Jaci Dawn

I have this fabulous friend, Dee. I mean, she is fabulous. She is the Recycle Queen (and she doesn’t live in Oregon – she lives in Oklahoma). She hosts a huge summer music gathering every year. She blogs. She sends out a newsletter (Okay, she’s been a little lax on that end). She loves New Orleans. She unschooled her two children. Dee promotes local music and she does pirate cosplay.

She has always been a role model of organization and housekeeping with a good sense of humor thrown in.

She adopted a dog about the same time that Harvey came into my life. Her dog had been shot and left to die in the wilds of Oklahoma, but he was rescued and healed and now has a Forever Home with Dee and her husband.

But Dee (bless her heart) has always driven me nuts. She sets the housekeeping bar pretty high. I could kill for her black-and-white 1950’s kitchen. It’s immaculate. It’s immaculate even after the weekend music party they host every year. (She’ll deny that and even will offer up stories about missing scissors, but I secretly know better.)

Sometimes I wish Dee lived in my own backyard to help us recycle, reuse, and reduce. She’s truly an awesome person.

But get this: she irons her sheets. Not any sheets (like me): she purchases the ones with the highest thread count. I didn’t even know sheets had a thread count until I met Dee. (She would be proud of the set I just purchased for our bed: I actually looked at the thread count and bought… well, cheap micro-fiber ones. But I *did* look at the thread count. That counts, right?)

She was also the first person to point out to me that there were certain “fashion” rules. Well, she wasn’t pointing it out to me, specifically, but she and someone else posted some diatribes about wearing white pants before Memorial Day or after Labor Day. By God, I didn’t even know there were freaking rules about when to wear white pants! What a thing! Who knew you weren’t supposed to wear white pants before or after a certain date?

Okay, Southern Ladies – cool down!! I grew up with a desire to be a horse. When I couldn’t be a horse, I decided I wanted to be a boy. Problem was, I am very heterosexually oriented and soon enough, I had to come to terms with the fact that I like being feminine sometimes. I even got my ears pierced when I was 23 because I like dangly earrings. I’m not a total flop at all this girly-girly stuff.

OK, yes, I am. When my daughter was a toddler, I tried to discourage her from buying anything pink or Mattel. I protested when bicycle manufacturers only produced pink bicycles the year my daughter wanted a bike (what? No green, red, or blue girl’s bikes??). I lost on every front: my daughter loved her dolls, loved her My Little Ponies™, and wanted to be a ballerina.

Tonight, I was browsing Facebook, and I saw this post (in part):

“Mondays are always my longest work day at home. I did three loads of laundry, including our sheets, ironed the pillowcases and remade the bed, ironed about a dozen cloth napkins and a clean bandana for Shiloh, cleaned out the refrigerator, made a batch of apple spice muffins, tidied the whole house, did the HMA events post and shared in several places, posted in most of the pages I manage, practiced piano, meditated, did yoga, walked for 30 minutes on the treadmill, wrote two blog posts, cooked dinner (General Tsos Chicken, Asian slaw, rice, steamed sugar snap peas, pineapple), cleaned the kitchen, got the aquarium ready for a new goldfish, looked up sales and made my shopping list”

Wait. Did I just read that right? She ironed a clean bandana for Shiloh, the dog?

Dee, I hate you. Now Harvey is going to expect the same treatment. My house is a wreck, I never dust, I can’t remember the last time I baked, and something is growing in the back of my refrigerator that is not my sourdough starter.

But, don’t feel alone. I hate Pioneer Woman, too. Over-achieving, homeschooling, tv cooking show host, book writing, super mom.

But I’m addicted to both of you. I wonder if there’s a 12-step program to help me?