This story just needs some explaining of how busy I've been. I have been so busy that laundry hasn't been done in at least a week. I know it's been at least that long because I'm down to the I-don't-really-like-but-still-keep-for-some-unknown-reason shirts and the pre-pregnancy stuff that isn't even close to fitting me yet (I'm still not sure why I've pulled it all out of the basement storage. Maybe I thought it would inspire me to lose this last 15 pounds or so? Well, silly me. It's just sort of depressing.). Rory is wearing skirts since she's out of clean shorts, and poor Tate's left with just onesies. Tucker's still asking me where his clothes are. He actually did a load the other day just so he could have some clean boxers (Now, he does do laundry. It's not all on me, even though I'm the one at home the most. He's actually quite good at doing it. In fact, he always carries the baskets upstairs and helps me fold. And he's the only one who puts the laundry away. I could live out of that basket on the floor for weeks. However, he's been just as busy as I have been. Our housework has been a bit neglected.). I'm usually right on top of getting this done. Usually. But this week, I really needed to do some clothes washing.
Anyway. I learned something yesterday. Tate loves blueberries. He loves them so much, he sticks out his tongue and makes that happy baby "pffffft" sound. When he makes this happy little sound, whatever is in his mouth comes out. Usually that's fine. I laugh, snap pictures, and wipe myself off.
Last night, we had plans. I had trouble finding something to wear, and was just feeling tense about all that's going on in my life. Honestly? Picking out what to wear isn't my top priority. I amazingly found a shirt that (1) fit, and (2) was clean. Hurray! It was, however, white. Now listen, I make a general rule that during the first few months of my children's lives, I don't wear white. Honestly, I don't wear any light color. Dangerous stuff, that is. No matter how careful you are it. will. get. dirty.
So back to the blueberries. Tate loves 'em. Happy baby noises, purpleish spray everywhere. I panic (This is it people. My last clean fitting shirt.), check myself, and am relieved to find that no blueberry had made it onto me and my clean, fitting shirt. I wipe off the kid, clean his tray, and pick him up. He goes into the exersaucer, and I run upstairs to put on some makeup before going out. Walk into the bathroom, turn on the light, look into the mirror, and...a chubby purple hand print on my chest.
Now. I have learned something about getting blueberry out of clothing. Baby wipes do not take that out. No they do not. They smear it around a bit. Washcloth and soap? Nope. I'm thinking one of those bleach pen thingys would work, but I'm too cheap to buy one. Anyway, know what does work? Cold water and a good rubbing with some Shout spray. However, this also makes the shirt unwearable.
I did find another shirt. Not as nice fitting, and there was a spot of something baby produced on it, also white, but overall, it worked fine. We went out, our evening was lovely, and I'm now sitting home tonight listening to the washing machine swish and the dryer hum.
Life is busy right now...but at least the family will have something clean to wear tomorrow.
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