Apastalypse Now

You guys, Herr Husband cleaned our pantry tonight (with an assist from me–seriously. I was the one who found the copy of Are You My Mother? that I’d had to buy from the library because it was lost.). Anyway, he found–no lie–thirty-two boxes of pasta (opened and unopened). Apologies to Nanny Sunshine who once cleaned our pantry. Please know that every time Gigi comes over she says, “Poor Nanny Sunshine, after all the hard work she put into this pantry…”

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Newsflash from Obvious Town: Organization isn’t my strong suit.

I tried to argue that it made me a good mother because I was prepared for a disaster in which we needed food stores. But really, I know this is insane. Das Big Boy won’t even eat pasta unless it’s macaroni and cheese (NB, Dr. G: I only feed him the organic kind…). We also have six boxes of that (not included in previous pasta totals, which also omitted Asian noodles in what Herr Husband referred to as, “an effort to be generous.”)

Now you could go all #FailedFeminist on me, and point out that I shouldn’t be blamed for this excess, because it’s not my duty to stock our kitchen or clean our pantry. But to that I respond, a) obviously I don’t clean our pantry and b) Herr Husband does a lot of chores. Like all of the laundry. And anything involving cat poop, because like many a smart lady, I’ve ridden that Toxoplasmosis fear straight out of pregnancy and right into the rest of my life. This is particularly unfair as we have a cat with IBS who either can’t or won’t control his bowels. I digress. The truth is, grocery shopping is a chore that I actually love (as evidenced by my apparent uncontrollable glee every time I see organic whole wheat fusilli (6 boxes)), and therefore I do pretty much all of it. So yes, I am to blame here.

And now, because I believe it’s my duty to share my kids’ cuteness once per post, here is a picture of DBB at a recent bowling birthday party.

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Look at those shoes! DBB’s tiny bowling shoes, that is. Not HH’s Birkenstocks. Look away from those, I say, look away! (Photo credit: Neighbor friend/triathlete/birthday party hostess). Location: Needham Bowlaway

I think the pic is adorable, but befouled by HH’s Birkenstocks. Now look, I “rocked” (can you rock Birks?) purple Birkenstocks with wool socks in 1994 as well as the next fake hippie adolescent, but that doesn’t make them ok, right? And then ‘Burban Bestie informed me that I was wrong. That Birkenstocks are indeed in style. Oh my. What a lot of learning I have to do. Still, don’t expect me to bust out a pair anytime soon (Full disclosure: I also had them in blue, and in black clogs, and I only finally got rid of them in 2009 when we moved to Brooklyn). But all of my footwear convos with ‘Burban Bestie have made me yearn for the other shoe of my tortured teen years: the Doc Marten. So perhaps you’ll see me stomping around in those instead. And then I’ll really be ready for the apocalypse, what with my hoarded food and steel toes.

Watch out, zombies/angels of judgement. I’m ready for you.

As always,

Deine Hipster Hausfrau

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3 Comments on “Apastalypse Now”

  1. Charlotte says:

    Joy. Pasta. Birks. Babes. Life. Thank you!

  2. hahaha – I LOVE this post. My pantry is in need of a clean out too (in fact, about to write a post about it as well). I can’t say I have quite as many boxes of pasta as you – probably mostly because my pantry just isn’t big enough, but I have nuts and random dried fruit snacks coming out my ears. This I blame on scott. Also the bowling shoes are super cute. Also, cat litter is for sure a man’s job – glad I’m not the only one who has managed to pawn that off forever. Also, birks are now back in style, but not for men. Scott still wears him sometimes but I refuse to let him out of the general house area in them. Also, will we see you in Boston?

  3. […] how I wanted Doc Martens? I bought them. And then Stitch Fix sent me a red plaid shirt (it’s not flannel but sort of […]


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