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I seem to posess what I like to call, "Domestic ADD".

I start a project like, say, cleaning the bathroom, and before you know it I have done something like go to retrieve the mop and I will notice that the broom closet is in disarray. And then I will take the time to clean that and then in the process of taking the mop back to the bathroom I see that Giada DeLaurentis has a new show on so I sit for a bit and watch that and then in the process of that I notice I left my slippers by the couch so I take those back to my closet. And then figure while I am there I should re-arrange my closet and clean under my bed. And then I will remember I have to mail a package so I run out to do that and then end up stopping at a friend's for coffee and by the time I get home it's time to make dinner and then I realize that the primary objective of cleaning my bathroom never happens.

Which could be subconcious. I hate cleaning the bathroom. I would rather wash 1000 caked-on, greasy dishes - by hand - than have to clean my bathroom. And the horrible dynamic is that I am obsessive about having a clean bathroom.

I really should be medicated.

Anyway.

So I was doing laundry and decided I would just go ahead and scrub the tub (The Toilet is The Husband's Task) and mop the floor even though I just did it over the weekend. But I have an insanely busy weekend and wanted to have it all out of the way.

But in the process of doing laundry I found a recipe in the pocket of my fabulous new mocha colored linen capris. It was one I quickly jotted down for cinnamon rolls on Easter Sunday and told myself I would make a batch before the week was out. So I did a mental inventory if ingredients I had on hand and made my way to the kitchen to start proofing the yeast.

My logic here was that while the dough was rising I could tackle the bathroom and kill two birds with one stone.

Yeah. Whatever.

So I am mixing and kneading and trying to mainting decorum in the presence of my arch enemy - flour. When, as fate would have it, my apron caught on the garbage can below my prep island and tipped it just enough to spill out the flower I had just scraped off my kneading board. And, as fate would have it again, the flower landed on the puddle left behind by the icec cube that went flailing out of my hand when pouring myself a nice glass of grapefruit juice.

Which, yeah, now I had a paste situation. (Or as Ross Gellar would say, "It made a paste, man!")

Anyway so I scraped up that mess and realized I should just mop the entire kitchen floor - and I did.

And then while heading back to the bathroom the phone rang and it was The Sister and we spoke for a good 45 minutes, which was just about the time the dough would be ready for rolling. But I told myself I needed to get that tub scrubbed out and it wouldn't take long to do that an run a quick mop over the floor. But then I realized that I didn't want to have bathroom-y smells on me when I rolled out the dough so I would just do that first and then when the rolls were baking I would head back to the bathroom.

So I rolled dough and I brushed with butter and I loaded with brown sugar and cinnamon and walnuts and raisins and I rolled and pinched and sliced and got the rolls into the oven.

I washed my hands and I was heading back to the bathroom when I rembered I had to jot down some menu ideas for a trick coming in June so I went over to my computer and cranked that out, which then caused me to use up all the time during the baking of the rolls.

Into the kitchen I went to brush with butter and glaze with glaze and then I thought I would put them aside to cool while I quick took care of the bathroom but the smell - oh the smell. I convinced myself to try a little roll with sweet and sticky glaze and melting butter and an ice cold glass of milk.

There I was, cozied up on the couch with my treats and watching a Sex & The City re-run while simultaneously reading up on the dining hotspots of the Florida Keys.

And I got so cozy and so full of lovely sweet goodness... that I fell asleep.

I can't believe I fell asleep!

The Husband got home a while later and when he woke me up he was licking icing off his fingers.

"What's the special occasion for the cinnamon rolls, Babe?"

"Oh, I was cleaning the bathroom."

Posted by Foodwhore at March 31, 2005 10:04 AM

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