Category Archives: home

Nov 23 2012

The Real Black Friday

Posted on by

These retailers may think that Black Friday is some new, big shopping day, but we have had Black Friday in our house ever since the kids started talking.  Well, actually, ever since the kids started talking back.

Yes, in a short 24 hours, probably less, from the time that we have sat around the table saying how thankful we are for each, the mood will have taken a definite turn.  The joy and good feelings of Thursday will have dissolved into the cranky darkness of our Black Friday. 

Like participants of that other Black Friday, I will be up way too early.  Unlike those participants, I will not be racing out the door to get my hands on some amazing bargains. (Okay, they won’t either – be getting amazing bargains, that is, but I don’t want to ruin their fun.)  I will be up because Nic, who can never get out of bed in the morning for school, has decided that 5:30 a.m. is the exact time that he needs to know why Greg Heffley’s  (Diary of a Wimpy Kid) Aunt Loretta showed up too early for Thanksgiving dinner.  Did she ruin the whole day?  Do we have an Aunt Loretta?

By the time I quiet Nic down, it is too late to go back to sleep.   Aaron will have joined us downstairs.  He will want to know why are we talking about Diary of a Wimpy Kid.  He will admonish his brother for having brought up Thanksgiving because “that was soooooo yesterday.”   I will tell both boys that they need to go back to bed. 

When their whining that they are not tired and insisting that they could not possibly go back to sleep gets even louder than their father’s and grandmother’s snoring, I will fold.  Like the Black Friday shopper who got caught in the automatic doors at Wal-Mart (okay, I made that up), I will be squished between my boys on the couch.  Both of them vying for my attention.  Aaron will literally be pulling my eyelids up to make sure I don’t fall asleep.  Nic will be asking me if he can use the computer though he knows his grandmother is sleeping in that room.

By the time my husband and mother-in-law wake, long after the Early Bird Door-Busters have expired, my Thanksgiving gratefulness will be wearing thin.  The first,”No coffee?” muttered by husband will be met with a murderous, though sleepy, stare.  In the kitchen, I am greeted by all the dishes left from late-night turkey sandwiches and one-last-pieces of pie.  I push them aside so I can fill the coffeepot with water.  The black liquid will be my sanity today.

Before Kmart can even announce their next Blue Light Special (do they even still do that), Aaron will have announced that he is bored.  We haven’t even had breakfast yet, I will say.  But I have been up for hours already, he will retort.  Yea, like I didn’t know that already.

After breakfast, while I clear the dishes and my mother-in-law watches the TV much too loudly, Ron will ask me what my plans are for the day.  Knowing that “getting as far away from all of you as I can” is probably not my best answer, I shrug.  “Haven’t decided yet.”

I tell the boys it is time to get dressed.  “Why, so we can sit around the house and eat all day?” asks Aaron.  “But, mom, I haven’t even used the computer yet!” complains Nic.  Remember, I tell myself, these are the people I am THANKFUL for…and at least I am not at the mall with a thousand sneezing and coughing strangers all grabbing for the same Furby.

“Let’s go for a walk.  It’s beautiful outside!”  I will encourage them.   

“Then can I use the computer?” Nic will ask.

“Yea.  Like, I don’t think Dad is going to do that. If you really want to go for a walk, maybe that would be good alone time.” Aaron, suggests helpfully.

Like the shopper who arrived too late for the $49.99 portable DVD player, I feel my disappointment setting in.  I’m always surprised how quickly things get back to “normal.”  I am losing my Thanksgiving high – quickly.

Finally, everyone is dressed.  It is already time for lunch.  I suggest turkey sandwiches.  “I’m sick of turkey,” Aaron will whine.  “I still haven’t used the computer,” Nic will groan.  “Whatever you want to make is fine,” my husband will add as he reclines on the couch. My mother-in-law will be staring out the window.  “Does anyone ever drive down this street?  It’s like no one else even lives here!”  I will sigh, bite my tongue and make lunch. 

After lunch, I will suggest we play a game.  Only my mother-in-law will agree to join me.  Realizing that he will now be in charge of the boys, my husband will quickly take a seat at the table.  Within a few minutes, the boys will join us. They will not like the game, even though it is one of their’s. 

“How much longer is this going to take?” Nic will ask. “Since I played the game can I use the computer.”

“I’m hungry,” Aaron will add. ”Can’t we stop playing to have a snack?”

Eventually, the frustration will be too great.  The only one having fun will be my mother-in-law because she hasn’t heard even one of the boys annoying comments.  And, because, much to Aaron’s dismay, she is winning.

Just as the evening round of Black Friday deals are starting and new shoppers flood the stores, my family will ask if we can order Chinese food for dinner.  “But we have all these great leftovers!”  I will say.  “That’s Thanksgiving food, Mom,” Aaron will say.  “And Thanksgiving, in case you haven’t noticed, is over.”

I agree to Chinese food.  The leftovers will keep for a day.  But, I am not ready for Thanksgiving to be over.  I am not ready for it to be Black Friday.  I start to realize that Black Friday is almost over.  Soon, it will be Monday and, at least until Christmas vacation, things will get back to normal.

Yes, on Monday, I will be thankful, again.

 

 

Nov 21 2012

Our Thanksgiving Will Only Be Missing One Thing: More People

Posted on by

Making my grocery list for Thanksgiving dinner always makes me a little melancholy.  It’s not the shopping or the house cleaning or the food preparation that gets me in a funk.  It’s the number of people who will be around our table. 

While so many people are dreading being with their families on this holiday, I will be missing mine.  Growing up, we always had Thanksgiving with family.  When I was little, we lived in Brooklyn, NY.  My mom’s family all lived only a subway ride away.  Holidays were a big family affair – especially Thanksgiving. 

My mother would plan for days.  The house would be scrubbed from top to bottom.  The table would be set the day before with linens and china.  An assortment of pies and other goodies would be spread out on the dessert table which we were forbidden from even looking at for fear we might touch something. 

When the family arrived, there would be fruit and nut bowls put out on the tables.  Trays of olives, antipasto and stuffed artichokes would be shared.  We would be dressed in our holiday finest.  My cousin, Peter, would show us how to put olives on each finger.  We, much to my mother’s dismay, would pretend they were puppets before we gobbled them up.  When we bored with the olive puppets, Peter would hoist us into the air to play “The Flying Nun“,(yes, I am that old).  My cousin, Joey, would play tricks on us that made us shriek with laughter while his sisters scolded him to leave us alone.   We would feast on the traditional Thanksgiving meal but always had a lasagna because that’s what Italians do. 

Several years later, when we moved to Connecticut, the Thanksgiving crowd was much smaller.  Often, it would be just my dad’s mother or father.  Sometimes, one of my dad’s sisters and her family would come by later for dessert.  The meal was still an elaborate production.  My mother never missed a single thing.  The day was still special because we dressed up, not just ourselves but our home.  With five kids at the table, the house felt full.  Thanksgiving was definitely a family holiday.

Even as a young adult, I loved going home for Thanksgiving.  My sisters, brother and I were always plenty of company for each other whether anyone else was there or not.  We were loud and raucous and made each other laugh.  Thanksgiving really hadn’t started until someone snorted their mashed potatoes across the table in a fit of laughter.

When we started a family, I looked forward to having those great big meals at my house.  Sure, everyone would have to travel to get here but it would be worth the trip.  I would do all the things that my mom had done and add a few touches of my own. 

Things haven’t quite worked out that way. Being an older parent, my parents are, well, older.  They are not as healthy or able to do big events as they used to be and they don’t travel well.  My siblings and I, though still close, have each moved in different directions.  But, mostly, the holidays are tough for my boys to handle.  They create as much anxiety as they do excitement.  There are too many changes to schedule.  Getting together with the big family crowd creates a sensory overload that takes Aaron and, especially, Nic, days to get over.

So, now I prepare the Thanksgiving meal each year but it is on a much smaller scale.  A leaf and cranberry wreath purchased from a local craft store will adorn the door. The table will have a fall-themed cloth but no fine china.  That is still in its original boxes in the basement waiting to learn its fate.  There will be a few appetizers (Nic likes spinach and cheese spirals each year).   Ron will make corn bread with the boys.  Aaron will try not to tell his grandmother the secret ingredients (applesauce and cinnamon).  We will sit down to dinner, Ron, Aaron, Nic, my mother-in-law, Peg, and I.  We will go around the table and say what we are thankful for. 

But, except for the boys providing a combination of critiques of the meal with questions about when pie will be served, the table will be quiet.  There will not be the sharing of family jokes, the uncontrollable laughter, the spewing of mashed potatoes. 

Instead, there will be thankfulness for the tradition of spinach spirals and cornbread with secret ingredients.  I will be thankful that my boys are healthy and quirky and amazing in their own ways.  We will be glad for the meal and our home and that no one we love is in harm’s way. And, quietly, I will be thankful for my siblings even while I’m missing them.

 

 

Oct 17 2012

Too Much Stuff: I Want More of Less

Posted on by

As Americans, we have too much stuff.  During a recent perusal of TV’s less than uplifting offerings, I noticed a running theme.  Hoarders, Storage Wars, Storage Hunters, Shipping Wars, Toy Hunter, American Pickers, Antiques Roadshow are all shows about stuff.  People buried in stuff, people storing stuff, people buying other people’s stuff, people shipping stuff,  people collecting stuff, people appraising stuff! 

I was about to cast some stones on those who have too much stuff, when I looked around my glass house.  I slipped those rocks right back into my pocket. 

The piles of stuff are scattered throughout the house.

Everywhere I looked there were piles of stuff.  Toys, paper, craft supplies, clothes, books, bags…too much stuff.  I blame it on my kids. 

When my husband and I were the only occupants of our house, it was very tidy.  We did have piles of paper but they were small and confined to our desks.  That all changed when we had kids.  Soon, there were diapers stored in nearly every room.  Of course, if you have diapers you also need wipes, a changing table (which is a magnet for clutter) or at least a mat for changing the baby on, and even a tube of diaper cream – just in case.  Oh, and then there were the toys.  The rattling toys, the moving toys, the tummy time toys, the musical toys.

While I took care of my babies and my husband was building his own business, we hardly noticed the piles growing around us.  There was laundry that was folded, or not, and still needed to be put away.  There were toys, which fortunately outnumbered the Cheerios, scattered everywhere.  There were books stacked in every room that served as great little resting posts for the boys when they started to cruise.

Things only got worse when the boys started school.  Now, in addition to everything else we were drowning in, we were also drowning in paper.  Forms to be signed, requests for donations, corrected worksheets with big stars or smiley faces drawn on them, original artwork by my two little masters.  All paper that must be dealt with, eventually.  My house had too much stuff.  I would like to have less.

I decided I would start to sort stuff.  I had read an article on organizing your stuff that suggested separating everything into three piles: keep, donate, and throw away. Having always been a “throw it out” kind of gal, I was surprised to realize that throwing things out wasn’t so easy when your kids, or at least memories of them, were attached to the things.  By the time I was done, the only things in the throw away pile were some old shoelaces, a gum wrapper and a picture I was sure neither of my kids had drawn.  The keep pile loomed high.  At least, I had a decent amount of things to donate.

With the donations given away and the shoelaces, gum wrapper and picture tossed, I still had to figure out what to do with our stuff.  I realized then that my real problem was that I had no place to put our stuff.  Our closets were already full and we really didn’t have much in the way of shelves or cabinets anywhere else in the house.  

I went on a mission to find storage for our stuff.  Quickly, I learned three things about storage.  First, buying things to store your stuff is very expensive.  Two, an entire industry seems to have grown up around ways to store our stuff.  Three, just like we have too much stuff, we also have too many choices about how to store our stuff.  I went home feeling defeated.  I had not come up with a way to store our stuff.  It seemed to me that spending a lot of money on things to store our stuff was only going to encourage us to fill it with more stuff.

I still want to have less stuff, but, for now,  I have been living peacefully with our piles.  From time to time, I wage war upon them and they actually get smaller for a while.  One time, I was even able to see my kitchen counters.  I put a plate down without having to move anything!  That was a wonderful day.  If only it had lasted.

 

Sep 7 2012

Best Laid Plans and All That Crap

Posted on by
The nice thing about not planning is that failure comes as a complete surprise rather than being preceded by a period of worry and depression. – by Unknown Author

I have been waiting for the day for 2 months.  The first day of school.  Not just the beginning of the new school year, but the beginning of another year for me to try to accomplish something.

I am determined that I am going to get organized this year.  I am going to get it together.  And, I know I will because, this year, I have a plan.  Okay, I have a plan in my head.  I’m going to get it on paper sometime (because I don’t have a Blackberry, or an iPhone or any device that even remotely resembles modern technology), but, I definitely have a plan.  It goes something like this:

Get the kids ready and off to school, exercise, shower, make beds, do breakfast dishes, laundry, write, network, lunch, vacuum, laundry, write, dust, errands, pick-up kids from school, snacks, homework, deal with tattling/instigating/arguing, make dinner, serve dinner, clean dishes, spend time with kids, deal with tattling, instigating/arguing, bedtime routine, laundry, sweep and wash floors, chat with husband, write, reply to e-mails, spend time with husband, watch the news, think about all the things I have to do tomorrow, pass out.  Mix in a little volunteering, doctor appointments, yard work, projects that need to be done around the house, phone calls, maybe even a haircut, and I think I’ll have it all under control.

That is, until life steps in.  A few days before Aaron started school, I realized that Nic started school a day later.  No problem.  I can start on my grand new, very-productive, no-kids-interrupting-me, will-make-me-efficient-and-organized-like-I-have-not-been-since-the-boys-were-born schedule a day later than I planned.  So, I scale things down for Tuesday and plan to go full throttle on Wednesday.

At 5:15 a.m., I am getting into my workout clothes and getting ready to wake-up Nic.  Ron leaves at 6:15 and Nic and I are waiting for the van by 6:30.  I am feeling great.  For the first time in years, I am following through on my plan.  Sticking to a routine (that is not just for the kids).  At 6:45 Nic and I are waiting for the van.  I am starting to get a little antsy.  I need to exercise before I have to get Aaron ready for school.  At 6:50, I call the van company.

“Hi, I was just calling to see what time we can expect the van this morning?”

“School doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

“No, school starts today.  The van should have been here at 6:30.”

“No, all our paperwork says that your son doesn’t need a van until tomorrow.”

“Well, the letter from the school, the e-mail from the school, the person from the school that I talked to yesterday, and the school calendar that I am looking at right now all say school starts TODAY.”

A van will not be coming.  For one moment, I think about not sending Nic to school for the day.  It is only a half-day and it is an hour away from our house.  But, I look at his face see how excited he is about his first day.

I scramble to get Aaron out of bed, dressed and served breakfast.  He is not happy. He decides that his brother did this on purpose.  I explain several times that his brother doesn’t even know the name of the van company let alone how to use a phone.  So, Nic could not have called to cancel the van.  Mark and Jenny,(thank God for them – or thank whoever an atheist would thank), agree to let me drop off Aaron and they will take him to school.

Luckily, it is one of those rare occasions where Nic is taking things in stride.  We have a pleasant ride to his school, despite the heavy traffic.

When I get home, I am now three hours off my schedule.  Since Nic has a half day, he will be home in about the same.  No problem.  I’ll do what I can today and start my grand new, very-productive, no-kids-interrupting-me, will-make-me-efficient-and-organized-like-I-have-not-been-since-the-boys-were-born schedule two days later than I planned.

Thursday morning, I am off to a great start.  Nic gets up and is cooperative.  I am dressed and ready to work-out.  My plan is going to work.  Ron leaves to teach his early class.  Nic and I wait for the van.  And we wait.  And we wait.

“Yes, they are coming,” replies the lady at the van company when I call to ask if they are sending a van this morning.  “They should be there shortly.”

About 45 minutes after we expected them to arrive, the van shows up.  The van driver is very apologetic.  We really like the van driver and monitor.  We are lucky Nic has gotten them, so it is hard for me to be angry with them.  It won’t change anything anyway.  So, I say good-bye and head into the house.  It’s too late to exercise because I have to get Aaron ready for school.

Aaron has already decided that school this year, just like every other year, is boring.  “The only good thing about school is lunch and recess,” Aaron tells me. “Why do I have to go to school for that?  I can have lunch and a play date at home – it’s basically the same thing.”

I explain that the reason he has to go to school is to get an education (and, because if he doesn’t, Mommy might put him in a FedEx box and ship him off to China).   “I’ll make a deal with you, Mom,” he replies, “When they start teaching me something I don’t already know, then I’ll go to school.”

“Well, you don’t know what they are going to teach you tomorrow.  So, there, they are going to teach you something you don’t already know.  Now, get dressed.”

Aaron finally gets dressed and has breakfast.  Because he dragged his feet, we will be lucky if we get to the drop-off before all of the teachers go inside.  As we drive to school, Aaron starts worrying about being able to find his way around the building when he gets there (he is in a brand new building this year).  “You know, Mom, you really should try harder to get me to school on time,” he says as we arrive at the school.  Luckily for him, a few teachers are still outside waiting for the stragglers.  If they hadn’t been,  my next stop would have been the FedEx store.

I arrive home.  Again, I am behind schedule.  Then I remember, I am supposed to meet with Jenny.  I dash around trying to get a few things done and vow that tomorrow will be the day that I start my grand new, very-productive, no-kids-interrupting-me, will-make-me-efficient-and-organized-like-I-have-not-been-since-the-boys-were-born schedule.

This morning, I got up and put on my workout clothes. Right on schedule, Nic got up and ready for school.  His dad was still sleeping because he doesn’t have class on Friday mornings.  Nic’s van was only ten minutes late.

I headed back in the house ready to exercise.  Then, I saw the paperwork I didn’t finish last night on the table.  Some needed to go to school with Aaron, some needed to go in the mail this morning.  I decided to exercise later.  I finished the paperwork.  I got Aaron up.  He was ready for school and on-time.  I thought I might just salvage my new schedule.

As I pull into the garage, I realize Ron is still home.  “Hey, Honey, what’s for breakfast?” he asks with a yawn.  Clearly, not exercising and a shower, I think.

We have breakfast together (without any kids around, which was kind of nice).  By the time he left, it was 10:00.  I still needed to write (this post).  I had not done a single thing on my schedule besides get everyone else ready for their day.

No problem, I thought.  I’ll start my grand new, very-productive, no-kids-interrupting-me, will-make-me-efficient-and-organized-like-I-have-not-been-since-the-boys-were-born schedule next week.  Then I looked at the calendar.  Dentist for the kids on Tuesday morning, doctor appointment for one of them on Wednesday morning, and waiting to hear on a meeting with the school for Friday morning.

I’m not ready to wave the white flag yet, but just for the record, if I don’t accomplish anything before June it wasn’t because I didn’t have a plan.

Sep 3 2012

Happy Labor Day to the One Person Whose Job is Never Done

Posted on by 
A man's work is from sun to sun, but a mother's work is never done. ~ Author Unknown

I was reading today about the origins of Labor Day.  It seems, we have the labor movement of the late 1800′s to thank for the holiday.  The movement is also credited with the development of eight-hour workdays and five-day work weeks. 

As I read, I thought, man, how do I get a deal like that?   I work seven days a week, up to 20 hours a day sometimes.  I don’t get sick leave or vacation days, and I am always having to take on new responsibilities without additional compensation.  Even in this economy, who would want this job?

The phrase "working mother" is redundant. ~ Jane Sellman

Apparently, many of us do. We are moms.  Of course, we have seen the estimates of what it would cost to pay a mom for all the things she does each year.  (According to the calculations of the SalaryWizard at Salary.com , my annual salary should be $149,286.  Personally, I think that is a bit on the low side.)  We’ve also heard the platitudes that it is the toughest job on earth and the most important job there is (that goes for dads, too!).

Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs in my field, since the payment is pure love. ~ Mildred B. Vermont

Which got me to thinking.  Motherhood is a lot of work, but it is really a job?  Is parenting a job?  It seems to me that both are truly indispensable and we could not survive without them.  For all of recorded history, and for sometime before that, humans raised their children, gathered food, prepared meals and maintained a living space.  These tasks were not jobs in the way we think of them today.  They were living.  They were all necessary to our survival.  It wasn’t until we created jobs outside of the home as a way of life that we started to think about what we do AT home as a job.

The thing is, if our economy were to collapse tomorrow, and there were no jobs to be had outside the home, all the things that moms do every day would still have to be done.  We would still need to care for our children, and all that implies.  We would still need to find food and prepare it to be eaten.  And, whatever we called home, we would still need to maintain it.

So, today, on the day that we celebrate labor, I wish to celebrate most the job that is never done.  The job that has stood the test of time.  The job that we could not survive without.  Today, I celebrate the job of parenting.  And remember, it is a labor of love.

 

 

 

 

Aug 27 2012

Welcome to Marie’s Kitchen, Special Orders Only

Posted on by

My first solo venture in the culinary world was not so successful.  At ten years-old, my mom let me make biscuits for dinner.  My family tried to be kind as they nibbled the inedible pucks.  I quickly learned that baking powder and baking soda were not the same thing, and the latter did not make tasty biscuits. 

I was not to be discouraged; I wanted to cook.  I poured over recipe books. (When I was kid we had to do it the “old-fashioned” way.  No FoodNetwork or Internet for aspiring cooks – just cookbooks and Julia Childs on PBS.)  Determined to prove to my family that I could cook, I continued to try my hand at baking, broiling, and sautéing. 

In my early teens, my mom went back to work.  I picked up the cooking duties.  I was in my glory!  I was making appetizers, dinner and dessert every night.  Sometimes, I would even make baking powder biscuits - this time, they were good!

My dad started to encourage me to consider a career in the culinary arts.  He and my brother promised to help me out if I wanted to start a restaurant.  I already had a part-time job with a caterer and knew this was not what I wanted to do all the time.  I would tell my dad, “I love cooking.  If I have to do it all the time, it will be work.  I don’t want to ruin it.”   No, I envisioned myself as hosting wonderful dinner parties where I could show off my skills and enjoy the meal with my friends.  I did not want to spend my life in a hot kitchen, managing employees and annoying customers.  I wanted to maintain my love for cooking, baking and recipe creation.

Fast forward to today.  There are no lavish dinner parties, no show of my culinary prowess and entertaining expertise.  Instead, I am a short-order cook in a hot kitchen, cranking out meals while managing children who annoy me.  My day starts with the breakfast orders.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“What do you have?”

“We have cereal, bagels, waffles, English muffins, and toast.  Which do you want.”

“I’ll have a bagel.”

“What kind of bagel.  We have sesame, plain or onion.”

“I want onion.”

“What do you want on it?”

“What do we have?”

“We have chive and onion or garden vegetable cream cheese.  And we have butter.  Which do you want?”

“Do we have anything else?”

“Sure, we have strawberry cream cheese, peanut butter and grape jelly.”

“Yuck!  Those would be gross on an onion bagel.”

“I know.  That’s why I didn’t mention them in the first place.  Now, what do you want on your bagel?”

“I don’t know.  What did you say we have?”

I repeat the list.  A decision is finally made.  I will have this exact conversation, or one very similar to it, two more times before breakfast is over.  At last, the boys and my husband have all had breakfast.  About the time I am finishing the dishes, I get the first request for lunch.

Again, it starts.

“I’m getting hungry.  Can I have lunch?”

“What do you want?”

“What do we have?”

“We have bologna, turkey, ham, tuna fish or peanut and jelly.”

“Can I have a hot dog?”

“We don’t have any hot dogs.  Besides, bologna is just a cold hot dog.  If you want a hot dog, have bologna.”

“Nah.  I’ll have a peanut butter and jelly.”

So, I start to make the sandwiches.  As I am putting on the final smear of jelly, I hear.  “Mom, I changed my mind.  Can you make me a tuna fish sandwich instead?”  Nic walks by and asks if he can have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  I hand him Aaron’s lunch and start to make tuna fish.

When the lunch rush is over, I clean-up the dishes and prepare for the dinner shift.  I stare blankly into the freezer.  It is hard for me to believe that there was a time that I viewed this as a creative challenge.  Now, it is a moment of dread.  Not another dinner, I think.  “Oh, hell, I am just going to make pasta.”

That evening, I boil the water for pasta.

“What are we having for dinner?”

“Pasta.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to pick?”

“Can you make gemeli?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t like sauce on my pasta.” Aaron reminds me.

“Can I have pesto on mine?” asks Nic.

Pastais supposed to be a simple meal.  By the time I finish making dinner, I will have prepared pasta three different ways:  butter sauce with a sprinkle of mozzarella cheese, pesto with extra romano, and tomato sauce with romano and parmesan.  We finally sit down to eat.

“How did you know I had pasta with red sauce for lunch?” my husband asks.

I was right all those years ago when I told my dad that cooking all the time would make it work.  It is.  And it has ruined it.  Maybe, my dad was right,too.  I should open a restaurant.  At least then, I would get paid for all the meals I make, even the special orders.

 

Aug 13 2012

Wishing for the Worst

Posted on by

There must be something wrong with me because I am the only person I know that spends her time wishing for the worst.  I don’t wish the worst for people, at least not for other people.  I really don’t want bad things to happen to anyone.  I mostly want bad things to happen to my house.

Last Wednesday was a good example.  I was downstairs making coffee and getting the kids breakfast while my husband was upstairs taking a shower.  When I finally got the boys to stop talking, I confirmed that the drip, drip, drip sound was real and not my brain slowly leaking out of my head as I had imagined.  Sure enough, there was water leaking from the ceiling right under the shower. 

Now, for most people, that would be a bad thing.  I was filled with glee.  I called the plumber but he wasn’t going to be able to come by until Friday.  That gave me two whole days of delight.  While my husband fretted about what kind of repair would be needed, I had already convinced myself that the walls would need to be opened up, the shower stall ripped out and everything replaced.  He dreaded a costly repair; I prayed for one. 

You see, I am pretty sure that the only way I am going to get the bathroom remodeled (or at least the nasty fiberglass shower stall that the last owners put in replaced) is if we have to do it.  So, far, I haven’t been able to come up with a compelling enough reason to do the work.  But, if the plumber has to cut the shower stall open to repair the pipes…I might have a shot. 

I know my husband is right.  We shouldn’t be spending the money on remodeling right now.  I haven’t been able to go back to work, the economy is tight, we have college (we hope) to pay for (someday), and most of all, he and the boys HATE change.   I, on the other hand, thrive on change and, so far, the only thing I have gotten to change in the past 8 years is bed sheets.

So, when the plumber, Mark, knocked on the door Friday morning, I was giddy with anticipation.  “I’m gonna get a new bathroom!  I’m gonna get a new bathroom!”, I sang in my head.  Outwardly, though, I appeared very concerned.  I didn’t want my husband to get suspicious.

After about 15 minutes, Mark and my husband came back downstairs.  “I’m going out to the truck to get the parts,” I heard Mark say to my husband.  “But this time, I suggest you not hang a shower caddy over the shower head.”  My husband was smiling.  This wasn’t good.

“So, what does he need to do?” I asked, hoping I had missed something.

“Oh, he has to replace the pipe that comes out of the wall connecting to the shower head.” said my husband, clearly more relaxed than he was before the plumber had gotten here.

“Doesn’t he need to open the wall to do that,”  I asked, visions of a new bathroom fading.

“Nope, just a simple repair.” replied my husband.  “He’ll be out of here in half an hour. 

And, he was.  I thanked Mark for his work as he left, though under my breath I cursed his honesty.  My husband was whistling. The cost of the repair was significantly less than anticipated.   Another anxiety invoking event for our sons had been dashed.  I was the only one disappointed.

I stared out the window and noticed the storm clouds gathering.  A spark of optimism rose inside me.  There was a big tree in the backyard leaning toward the guest bathroom/laundry room.  I really did want to make a separate laundry room.  I sipped my coffee, maybe the day wouldn’t be a total loss.  Now, all I needed was a microburst to hit that tree just the right way…

Jun 26 2012

New Project

Posted on by

This is what I’m working on making right now. I found the plans in FamilyFun Magazine.

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, this is what the parts look like spread out on my porch. Given the plethora of pvc pipe pieces, I wonder what Homeland Security would think of this scenario. I hope end result doesn’t   “bomb” with the kids   end up being a dud  turns out well.

 

 

 

Jun 13 2012

The New Rules of Housekeeping

Posted on by

Before I had kids, my house was close to spotless.  With the exception of the occasional pile ( I am definitely a pile person), the house was very neat and tidy.  I always thought it was due to my exceptional organizational skills and efficient cleaning methods.  It really was only because I didn’t have children.

With kids comes stuff, with stuff comes clutter, with clutter comes mess.  Lots and lots of mess.  I am always trying to find ways to get rid of things.  I donate items to charity, give them to friends and family who can use them, and throw out what can’t be used anymore.  Still, the stuff has won out.

Well, the stuff and the crumbs and the dust.

Even though my kids are pretty good about eating meals and snacks at the kitchen table, most of their food still ends up traveling with them.  On night’s when we have rice, Nic always manages to get enough of it stuck to his butt to feed a small village.  If I don’t catch him before he leaves the dinner table, I spend the rest of week stepping on hard, dry rice wondering when the last time was that I hosted a wedding at the house.  Aaron has that uncanny ability to get whatever the condiment du jour is stuck in the strangest places.  I never realize it until I find the ketchup stains on the couch, the chocolate sauce on the toilet seat (don’t even ask), or the maple syrup on my favorite pen.

For the first few years of having kids, I chased around after them wiping up every spill and smug.  I vacuumed the floors and under the couch cushions once a day, trying desperately to stay ahead of the piles of crumbs and colonies of dust bunnies that arose out of nowhere.

Between the housekeeping and the laundry (When they bury me, it will be under a pile of laundry), I didn’t have time or energy for anything else.  It was time to do something radical.  It was time to change the way I did my housekeeping.  I decided to find ways to incorporate it into my time with the kids.  Here is what I came up with:

  1. Sleeves and socks make the best dust clothes.  Why waste your time hunting down a dust cloth or buying expensive dusters when you are wearing a great dust cloth already?  Loading a DVD for the kids?  Wipe your sleeve across the TV screen while you’re at it.  Dust under the dining room table?  Stick your right foot out and slide it all about.  The great part of this dusting method is that your kids can help.  Have them slide along on the floors, surf the coffee table, wiggle their bottoms on the wooden chairs, and your dusting is done.
  2. Wiping up spilt water counts as washing the floor.  I no longer get upset when my kids spill water on the floor, or anywhere for that matter.  As I wipe it up, I have just mopped the floor.  And, sometimes, I don’t even need to wipe it up.  The kids and I have a dance party in the kitchen and before you know it, the floor is sparkling!
  3. Moving things from one room to another makes you look really organized.  Company coming?  No problem.  Give each kid a laundry basket (okay, you might actually have to put the laundry in them away first).  Pick up any piles of books, toys, papers in the room you are cleaning and put them in the laundry basket.  Put all the laundry baskets in your basement, garage, guest room or even the trunk of your car.  Any place the guests won’t be will do.  Now, your house looks neat and organized.  Everyone will be wondering how you do it.
  4. If you can’t see it, it doesn’t need to be cleaned.  Slide things under the couch skirt, tuck them under the bedspreads, place them on the highest shelf.  If things are not in the direct line of sight, people won’t notice they are dirty.
  5. Food coloring in the toilet makes it look pretty.  No one will wonder if the toilet is clean, when they are too busy wondering why the toilet water is purple.  When they ask, just tell them you were teaching your kids how to make secondary colors with food dye.  They’ll think you are clever, and you won’t have to wash the bowl.
  6. Almost any stain can have something put on top of it.  We all know that the quickest way to deal with a stain on a couch cushion is to turn that cushion over.  Well, a similar strategy works well around the rest of the house.  Can’t get that paint and glue mixture off the table?  Put a vase of flowers on top of it.  Handprints all over your refrigerator?  Cover them with your little ones artwork.  No money to fix the burn mark on the counter where you left the pan from last night’s dinner?  You just found a new spot for your microwave.  Why fix it or clean it, when you can cover it.

My guess is that Martha Stewart won’t be offering up any of my methods anytime too soon.  Until my kids are grown, or I get a staff as large as Martha’s to support me, they will just have to do.  For now, I’d rather spend my time with my kids.  That’s a good thing.

Jun 10 2012

Our house is like a contemporary art museum

Posted on by

Green handprint

In addition to the green handprint on my newly painted wall, there’s a trail of blue nail polish going up the (newly cleaned) carpet on the stairs, and Scott painted his (brand new) area rug with vaseline. Oh, and during a playdate yesterday the kids decided to use the art spinner on the rug in Kelly’s bedroom. So now Kelly’s rug is patterned with sprays of red, blue, and yellow ink. It looks like the Wiggles were murdered in there.

Scene of the Wiggles crime