Trash Woes

Oh, Fridays.

I get caught up in the euphoria of the upcoming weekend. I spend my Friday morning drilling kids for their spelling tests, packing lunches, and getting them off to school on time. I daydream about Saturday when I can sleep in till 7:30, lounge around in PJs, take a late shower…but sometimes…the daydreaming tends to make me a little forgetful.


Being forgetful is not a big deal, its part of life—until I’m putting the baby down for a nap and I hear the garbage truck.
The garbage! The garbage…
Accccck!


I all but drop the kid and his bottle into his crib, dart from the room like I’m chasing my 3 year old running with scissors, and run out into the garage, pound the garage door button with my fist and frantically race around, grabbing garbage sacks that have been scattered all over the garage because I was ToOoOo lazy to walk it outside because the cold winter is a force I don’t like to contend with.


The garage door begins to open s-l-o-w-l-y. It’s not rising fast enough and I want to kick it to get it to rise faster. I can hear the garbage truck coming up our street, stopping at our neighbor’s house two doors down.

*sigh* I finally give up and do a ninja cartwheel under the rising door, pretending I can do it as well as what I’ve see in the movies because they make it look so easy.
But I’m a mom of 4--having no professional training except professional potty training experience--and my body has been through hash and I realize—I’m no spring chicken.


I limp from the lateral malleolus I just sprained and hop to the garbage can waiting to be filled with the now tearing garbage sacks leaking waste and junk from my uncoordinated somersault.
I hear the garbage truck release its breaks. Then I hear him punch the gas.
AHHH!
I fling open the lid, chuck whatever I have into the can and realize—there’s more.

“Aiyyiyi!!!!”
From out of nowhere my voice has now taken on a Spanish accent and I make like a hot tamale and dash back into the garbage den of my garage.


I am now in a frenzy, grumbling under my breath, grabbing more bags of garbage in marathon speed, hating that I am fighting against time to get this out. I grimace like one of those freakish circus clowns as I lift the gargantuan bag of yucky diapers. It slaps my back as I fling it over my shoulder--praying my clothes won’t smell like this the rest of the day--and rush to the garbage can, hearing the garbage truck lowering my neighbor’s trash can…


In a Richard Simmon’s girlish shriek, I cry out in irritation as several items of “trash” tumble out of the sack and I am scooping and loading, scooping and loading like a mad woman.

A winter storm is blowing in and the wind is howling, tossing my hair all over my head, blowing it in my eyes and I suddenly feel sympathy for Chewbacca. I can’t see where my trash is being flung and I grab what I can save, hearing the truck begin to release its breaks once again.

I growl like a bad pit bull, hold my hair down with one hand in retched determination, chuck whatever it is into the garbage, slam the trashcan lid, and race down my sloped driveway for the 100 meter trashcan dash.

It’s nearly impossible to think rationally when you’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Instead of pushing the heavy trashcan down the sloped driveway, I go first, pulling it behind me and it begins to pick up speed.


Have you ever tried to race a bolder down a hill?

Yeah…not smart.


And neither am I as I lose control of the heavy stupid thing and turn in a desperate attempt to control my trash—but I can’t see as my hair twirls around my head like cotton candy. With an audience looking on—oh, like the size of my neighborhood—the dumb trash can barrels into me like a hit–and-run.

I am flung to the ground, but I desperately reach out to catch the stupid trash before it rolls out into the street and collides with the garbage truck.

The trashcan rolls to a stop—surprisingly, a few inches out from the curb—and I look up as the garbage man stops his truck, and its looks like I am bowed before him in worship.

I am trying to control the rise and fall of my chest, trying to regulate my breathing.
He empties my trash, then waves. (He can see me under this tornado of hair?) Holding back a secret smile, he drives off.
Mission accomplished. The trash has been taken out.

VICTORY!!!!!!

I stand up, brush off my pants, coughing uncomfortably—desperately hoping my neighbors weren’t really watching. (Alicia, Becky, Tina, Jen, Jill, Allison, Kristen, and especially Amy—I apologize for the dramatic show—this week and nearly every week as I tend to forget till the last minute. What a performance you must get every Friday!! Pop yourself some popcorn and sit back as your maniacal neighbor takes out the garbage at exactly the same time every week…It’s quite an ordeal for me...as you have probably already gathered…)

Ladies—I’m going to let you in on a little secret.

The true secret to weight loss is: procrastination.

What does Jillian Michaels from The Biggest Loser know? I guarantee you’ll shed a few thousand calories if you try my plan. Wait to take out the garbage until you see the garbage truck just a few houses away--and then make like a cheetah to gather your garbage.

(Actually, another classic way to burn those calories is to step out of the shower having forgotten your underwear, and make a mad dash down the hall to the laundry room where all the clean laundry is. Pass several open windows while you’re at it--pretending you’re not wearing a towel and this is all done in your b-day suit—knock off an additional 1,000 calories. So I have to ask…How badly do you want to lose those pounds?)

I will be the first to sign up for the first season of:
The Biggest Loser, Procrastination round.

Recap of the dramatic event:

Naw--just kidding. This is what REALLY happened...

It got too embarrassing to continue our dramatic photo shoot in the front yard. After several neighbor drive by’s, I got pretty embarrassed with a trash can on top of me and we moved it to the back yard…

And that’s a story in itself when you look up and see the wild expressions of your neighbors who drive by with an intense quizzical look sliding from you to your husband who is capturing the moment of his wife pinned under the garbage can in the driveway…

Poor people...they thought we were such normal neighbors...

The outtakes:

Isn’t she the best actress? How can she keep it together for so long? Of course this is all done between our breaks to laugh.

As you can see, I can’t keep a serious face for too long. For Pete’s sake! I’m in a trash can!

Ah ha! She finally slips and can’t hold back her laughter any more. Wasn’t she a beautiful model? Props to the model. Great facial expressions! Thanks neighbor girlfriend--I loved the looks of disgust.

(I’m gambling that some of those facial reactions probably weren’t made up either…)