My husband, Filbert (not his real name) has a deep and abiding love for sweaters. I mean *deep* and *abiding*. Seriously, it's a problem. He used to keep about half of them in Cashew's closet, but since that is no longer an option, he redesigned his own closet so that each sweater has a compartment where it can lovingly be stored. I had to establish a "one in, one out" rule for his sweaters and about a year ago, I finally convinced him to get rid re-home his last Cosby sweater. When I decided to start using cloth diapers to save money, his first concern was for his sweaters and the impact of washing diapers and then washing his dear sweaters. He was dreadfully afraid of poop transfer. I assured him that it could never happen, and reluctantly he agreed, although, he always tries to make sure another load goes through the washer between the diapers and his sweaters and when he sprays poop off of a diaper, he sprays and rinses and swishes that diaper so thoroughly, it almost doesn't even need to be washed. I am not quite so diligent.
Now, I am going to tell you something that he must *never* know. First, my kids really like cereal that has dried blueberries in it. And dried blueberries pretty much go straight through to the diaper. One time, (seriously, do not tell my husband this, he will freak out and take all his sweaters to the dry cleaner and we cannot afford a dry cleaning bill for 40 sweaters), so one time, I was taking the diapers out of the washer and there at the bottom of tub was one fully reconstituted blueberry.
They say confession is good for the soul, so here goes.
I never really wanted to be an opera singer. There I said it. It's in writing and I can't take it back. I don't really like singing in foreign languages, I like to really understand what I'm singing and have my audience really understand what I'm singing, and not just try to figure it out by my over-exaggerated facial expressions which I was never any good at making anyway. I don't hate singing opera, I have actually really enjoyed it at times, but it was never *really* who I was.
I have a tendency to blown by whatever strong wind that happens by, and well, end up places I don't really want to be. Part of my blog journey will be trying to stand up the gusts and discovering the real Amy.
By the way what I really do want to do is... You know that scene in White Christmas, where Rosemary Clooney has left the inn and took a job at the Carousel Club and she comes out in that fabulous black dress and sings "Love You Didn't Do Right By Me" in front of the live orchestra? That's the kinda singer I always wanted to be.
Edited to add: Thanks to the magnificent Filbert, my nutty husband, for finding the image!
