The Curse of the New Year

I woke up at 7:30.

This happened because last night at 9:00 I was informed that not every child at my house had a ride home, so I stopped drinking.  And became cranky and tired instead.

Oh JOY.

This morning I got up while everyone was still asleep and started cleaning the kitchen.  One dishwasher, one load of whites, 3 dishracks full, and two trips to the garage with soda and beer cans and then just as I was scraping burnt cheese out of the second crockpot and beginning to dream of a cup of coffee and facebook

WHOOSH.

The sound of pouring spraying water coming from the laundry room.  Both cats staring in the doorway with big eyes.

I ran in and shut the washing machine off.  But not before a flood of water, carrying the debris from years of not cleaning behind things and kitty litter (cause that’s where their bathroom is) came rushing out into the kitchen at me.  The cats ran.  So did I.

Downstairs to wake up Nick with that good morning phrase every hung over person wants to hear on New Year’s Day:  “The washing machine is exploding.  Help.”

I put on my sneakers as the fuzzy, kitty litter sludge continued to spread into the kitchen.  I don’t have to tell you about the next hour, or that Nick says this happens every few months and he’s never been able to figure out why.  I don’t have to tell you about Alex, the cat, who made a new game of tracking through the sludge and jumping on the counters, or about a friend of one of the girls who stayed over and came into the kitchen draped in a blanket that dragged through the mess and is now on the couch in the living room.

Let’s just skip to the part where I say something like “Well, if this is the way the New Year starts, I don’t think I’m going to like it.”

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