The last couple of days, I've gone on a spring-cleaning kick. Yesterday, I washed seven ginormous loads of laundry, dried seven ginormous loads of laundry, folded seven ginormous loads of laundry, and put away seven ginormous loads of laundry. Plus a few extras, cooking, washing up, spending time with the rug-rats.
Know what the best part of the preceding paragraph is? My spell-check didn't even highlight "ginormous." But I digress.
Today, I was so inspired by my success of yesterday, that I decided to tear into my bedroom and give it the best cleaning it has had since we moved in almost 4 years ago. I even made a list.
Declutter dresser. Check. Dust all important-looking furniture. Check. Organize headboard and night-stands. Check and check. Dust blinds, wash curtains, wash dresser scarf and various doilies. Wash windows, vacuum rug, vacuum rest of floor, Swiffer, make bed, wipe down baseboards. Check times ten.
The kicker happened when I started washing the windows. We have those fancy-schmancy double-hung windows that you can wash on the inside and the outside, all from the comfort of your square foot of space in front of the window. Double-hung windows may be run-of-the-mill now, but I'm still excited about them, since I grew up toting the step-ladder around to every window outside our house to clean.
I pulled the bottom pane out towards me and washed it, then lowered the top pane and pulled it out towards me.
A sickening twist and crack shot through my eager fingers, and the entire top pane of glass dropped out of the window onto the bottom pane of glass, which couldn't be good. Thankfully, both panes of glass were not cracked or broken. However, the top pane of glass was hanging in my hands as my astonished gaze took in the mangled metal hinges that kept the pane in place.
So, what do I do? Fix it, of course.
I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR!
After much sweating, heaving, and grunting, I at last wrangled that pane of glass back into the runners. Unfortunately, as it finally clicked into place, I realized the pane was much too low. It had taken the slot of the bottom pane of glass, which still stuck out horizontally from the window opening. I stuck my shoulder under the ledge on the top pane's edging, and shoved upward with all my strength.
Nothing.
It didn't even budge one iota of a millimeter.
I shoved, pushed, heaved, grunted (I did briefly consider telling that window exactly what I thought in not so nice terms, but besides the obvious taint to my kids' role-model, you would have the interesting picture of me talking to a window. Which, in point of fact, is crazy).
That window did not give.
Discouragement set in. I boo-hooed to myself that all I wanted to do was clean my room. Besides the inward sobbing, a growing, disturbing presentiment boiled like a black cloud on the horizon.
What was Tim going to say?
I didn't want to tell him. But honestly, he'd probably have a hard time ignoring the horizontal glass pane sticking across our room, propped up by a fan for the moment.
"Good night, honey. What? No, I don't see anything hovering over our bed. Sleep tight."
I wanted so badly to fix it myself. I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR! But unfortunately, I had to ask for help.
Fortunately, I am a blessed individual because I can ask for help!
Asking for help isn't so horrible after all.!
My trembling fingers dialed my husband's number. I told him my story, waited for his tirade, which didn't come, and listened as he calmly told me he'd look at it this evening when he got home.
Team Shoemaker for the win! We. Can. Do. It.
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