I had my carpets cleaned today. This was part of my attempt to have some holiday order in the house, the Beautiful Master Plan (BMP) for which broke down mercilessly last week. Without going into too much wallow-y detail, I'll reveal that the BMP was to culminate in the carpet cleaning last Thursday morning, the day I had Connery slated for a full day of childcare so that I could go frolic in Bozeman with two old friends AND avoid walking around on damp carpets in the middle of Montana winter.
Alas, I returned from Bozeman that dat to find that the cleaning had not been done because of a miscommunication about the key and blah blah blah. No tragedy, but it meant I had to reschedule for this week. So it got done today, but now I am freezing my ass off trying to get these stupid carpets dried, and I'm not entirely sure how the family is going to function without being able to touch both all floor surfaces AND the couch, which we also had cleaned.
Preliminarily, I have decided that Connery will just have to nap until 7pm, at which point it will be time for his bath. After all, if he's in the crib, he's not on the wet carpet! Why oh why is there nowhere to take a toddler in Livingston on a chilly winter afternoon?
The only person less thrilled about the clean-but-damp carpets is the cat. Not only have we ruthlessly removed a year's worth of markings (scent gland markings, not sprayings, mind you--Sotek is nothing if not a lady), but she also has wet paws. Cats do so enjoy that.