I’m Probably Already Way Beyond Crazy, But…

Because I am a stay-at-home mom/wife, and because there are now two little ones (both in diapers…ew) to hang out with, and because spring has not yet sprung and L is too little to go out in the cold yet anyway, and because over the course of the last month my house has become extremely un-cluttered…

I have a huge fear of becoming BORED. It’s like a four-letter word to me, except of course it’s really five, but that’s not the issue here.

I can’t afford boredom. It would come at a very high price, and that would be my sanity.

Here’s my situation:

I live in a tiny little town populated mainly by middle-aged and older people. Not that those people aren’t great (most of them), but I mean, Clint and I are 27 years old and much as we might get along with people who are older than we are (yes, as opposed to getting along with younger people, which we generally don’t)(wait, what the hell am I talking about? OH!), it’s not like we’re going to be hanging out at each other’s houses and inviting each other out to have coffee or…or…whatever people do to socialize with each other.

Cripes, I’ve become a hermit.

Anyway, we also live half an hour’s drive away from a real town (oh yes, I’ve just denied the actual township of my…non-town), and that being where most of my family lives, and it being a boring drive from here to there/there to here, not to mention (although I AM mentioning it…hmm) gas prices…

…

Sorry, the elipses was really entertaining, and yes, I use and abuse them. It? Is that plural?

Oh! And then there’s my best friend, and also my big sister, who live even further away.

And we don’t have free/unlimited long distance. If we could get decent cell phone reception out here, that wouldn’t be a problem. But, as things stand, my bestie (oh dear, I’ve done it. I swore I would never, NEVER, ever ever ever use that word) and my sister live JUST far enough away to be long distance.

Crappy.

It’s not like I don’t have things to occupy a good portion of my time. I mean, kids are pretty time consuming (no, that’s not a complaint, just fact), and then there are the average household cleaning duties such as laundry and dishes. However, since I’ve been washing dishes every morning, and sometimes in the afternoon too, and the laundry pile is dwindling down to almost manageable, and between me, my mom, and my other mom (she’s not technically mine, she’s Clint’s, but I always steal his stuff anyway, so why not his mom, too? Reasonable?) most every problematic, highly cluttered spot in my house is…organized.

It’s super weird.

Not the cleanliness of it, I just mean no longer having all these overwhelming piles of useless junk lurking in every available corner or closet or cupboard of my house.

Today, I dusted the entertainment center, and if you know anything about me, you know that’s a pretty drastic measure for me. I also washed the dishes, vacuumed, and cleaned up one of the last scary cabinets in the house.

Turns out, I have a LOT of empty picture frames.

And flower seeds.

And incense.

Also an inexplicable amount of masking tape.

I’ve also spent a lot of time with both of the munchkins, started a roast in the crock pot, and baked a double batch of brownies (oh yes, homemade and inevitably delicious). While mixing the batter, I sang and danced to terrible (and yet so loveable) songs from the 90’s while E sat by in his high chair and “helped” by smearing flour and cocoa around his tray, pausing every now and then to demand “more choc-late!”

I washed my hair.

I watched a deer climb up onto my neighbor’s porch.

I changed L’s stinky diaper THREE times in a ten minute period because APPARENTLY, I am impatient/kinda dumb.

I made fun of Michael Jackson to E, who laughed despite his lack of understanding just how hilarious the joke was.

Yeah, I’d say that if spring doesn’t get here ASAP, I’m likely to go completely psycho.

Bursting at the Seams

…Almost literally, it feels like. As of Wednesday, I was 38 weeks pregnant. Which means that I am now very large, very tired of being very large, and having one hell of a time with simple things like rolling from one side to the other when I’m trying to fall asleep.

Clint, of course, is amused by my lack of mobility. He says really helpful, encouraging things like, “Hey…you look pregnant.”

Thanks, dear.

This week, I’m nesting. People have been trying to tell me since Christmas that there are things I should probably try to get done sooner rather than later, but did I listen? No, because…!

A) I’m a procrastinator

B) The more anyone tells me I need to be doing something, the less likely I am to even attempt it

Which left me with a whole lot of projects to get done before February 6th, and I really only started doing them yesterday. Because I like to add excitement (panic) to my life, you know.

So, I have done what seems like a zillion loads of laundry. I even folded most of it. I set up L’s crib with crib skirt, bumper pads, quilt and all, even though she won’t be sleeping in it for a couple of months. I deep-cleaned the bathroom yesterday, using a toothbrush in spots and scrubbing the inside of the toilet with a pumice stone. Because apparently, in my crazy pregnant lady mind, ‘sparkling white’ was just not good enough for the inside of a bathroom fixture that catches…

Well, anyway, I didn’t stop at ‘clean’.

Possibly the strangest thing I’ve done was actually dusting the entertainment center. Yes, weirder than putting my hand into a toilet.

It has occurred to me a time or two, whilst vacuuming the house, that if I would just run a dust cloth over everything AS PART OF VACUUMING…there would be no dust anywhere. I vacuum every day. Hmm.

Anyway, after Wednesday the 6th (cripes, THIS WEDNESDAY), for a little while at least, I won’t have to worry about it.

I’ll be…not sleeping. Trying to walk without hurting my incision (C-section, remember). Feeding tiny children. It’ll be like I’ve just had a baby or something.

And then, just about two weeks later, E turns TWO!

Which means I’ve got to decide if we’re having a birthday party for him or not. We have to do something, of course…he only has one second birthday. I just know that I won’t feel up to going all-out for it, so it’s really good I have a lot of people I can impose upon to help me out (‘impose upon’ isn’t really right- these people would probably love to throw a party for my kiddo(I think)).

And now it’s time to hunt down any dirt remaining in the house and KILL. I mean, get the toothbrush out again.

If I can still bend without like, having a baby or something.

Failure to…Domesticate

This morning, I’m finally admitting to myself that I am not now, and never will be, a domestic diva. Much as I actually hate that term, it’s still a little bit of a sad realization. I’m a stay-at-home mom, I have time, I have all the supplies I need (you know, two hands, imagination, Magic Erasers).

Why am I no good at this?

It’s not that I don’t know how to clean. And believe me, there are people out there who just. Don’t. Know. How.

Really. You give them a simple task like ‘clean the bathroom’, and four hours later, they come back and say “Ok, all clean!” and when you go look, there’s hair in the sink still, and the bath tub ring is still firmly in place.

Nope, I definitely know how to clean. I know what needs to be done, and I know what to use to get it done.

I just…I don’t get it done.

My entertainment center (ok, fine, glorified TV stand) is this dark wood and dark glass contraption that attracts dust the way a white T-shirt attracts spaghetti sauce. With the exception of the Wii, all of the electronical devices (yes, electronical! Shh!) that live on the shelves are black. At least, beneath the layer of dust, I think they’re black. Right now they’re kind of more…gray. If I don’t dust them, and the rest of the stand, every two days, it’s…bad. Very bad.

I haven’t dusted it in about a month.

No immediate plans to dust, either. Possibly I’ll do it before Christmas.

Laundry intimidates me, and that’s the chore I don’t really mind. It starts piling up, and I notice, and then I forget. I’m not sure at this point if I actually, honestly do forget about it, or if I just “forget” because I don’t want to separate colors from whites and carry baskets down and up the stairs (washing machine) and then out to the garage (dryer).

I can’t sew. I hope and pray that neither of my children ever need for me to make them any kind of costume for a school play or something, because I’ll just have to beg and bribe someone else to do it. I can thread a needle, but from there, it’s all a disaster.

I’m not great with money, although I’d say this is probably one of my better areas, if I’m focused.

Which I’m generally not. I get to looking out the window and see a pretty little bird, or I sneeze and lose all track of whatever I was doing just a moment before.

It’s kinda rough, being me…

Cooking is probably the worst. Not baking, mind you- cooking. Selecting ingredients, preparing them, putting them in a pan, whipping up a delicious meal…

The hell with it, I hate it. I don’t know the first thing about ‘whipping up a delicious meal’. And I really don’t care.

Ok, yeah yeah, I gotta feed my family, and probably they’re going to get really tired of pasta and hamburgers and chicken at some point. Maybe, if they all file several complaints, I’ll take their pleas for real food into consideration some day.

I just had a very brief, very bad idea- setting up a suggestion box for our home. Not just for me, of course, I’d have suggestions for Clint, too. But you know, we’re both too young to die. No suggestions.

There’s bound to be something I’m good at around here. Oh! I know! I can vacuum really well…

Yeah, that sort of doesn’t count. Vacuuming is not a skill.

Well, I’ll think on it. I’ll find something…probably…

Hotel ‘Secrets’ That’ll Make You Say ‘Ew!’

I’ve worked at a couple of different large-chain hotels as a housekeeper; the Ramada Inn, and La Quinta. For the most part, these weren’t bad jobs, but the difference between the two places, from a housekeeper’s point of view, is astounding. At Ramada, I saw things done/not done that make me cringe, while at La Quinta, I was impressed with how strict the rules of simple cleaning were. I recently stayed at a hotel and had to force myself not to consider any of the following things until after we’d checked out.

Prepare to feel disgusted.

At the Ramada, I worked as a deep cleaner, which meant that I spent an entire day at a time scrubbing down every inch of a single room. Furniture was moved out, curtains and bedding were all washed, vents were taken apart and cleaned. I loved this, because once I was finished, everything had a sparkle to it, and I knew the next person to stay in that room wouldn’t have to worry about the nasty blankets or what germs were crawling on the furniture surfaces.

However…

The only time that the comforter and blanket from the bed(s) got washed in that hotel was during a deep cleaning. Each room was deep cleaned about once every three- THREE- months.

In a busy hotel, imagine how many different people slept (or didn’t sleep) under/on that comforter.

Don’t use the comforter when you stay at a hotel/motel. Really. I’m begging you.

Some of the girls I worked with at Ramada admitted bragged often about the ‘short cuts’ they used to get their rooms cleaned within the time limits we had. Here are some that particularly gross me out:

-Not using the disinfectant cleaner in the bathroom. What? WHY? One girl said it saved time to not have to walk “all the way back into the hall to the cleaning cart” to retrieve the disinfectant. I asked her what she cleaned the toilet with then, and she said “Oh, I just use the dust rag.” Um, a dust rag with furniture polish on it will NOT kill the evil toilet germs.

-Not changing the sheets after someone checks out. One of the girls who ‘trained’ me at Ramada said that it just takes too long to strip the linens off the bed, grab fresh ones off the cart, and then proceed to put the bed back together. Instead, she would peel the comforter and blanket down to the end of the bed, examine the sheets carefully, remove any hairs that might be present, pull the sheets tight again, and re-make the bed. Same for the pillow cases; if there weren’t any hairs or make-up smears or, you know, blood or whatever else…she fluffed and straightened and left them for the next guest. I let the head housekeeper know about this, but considering that she was generally stoned at work, I doubt she ever did anything about it.

-Not changing out the towels. This is getting bad, isn’t it? Yes, I’ve actually watched a housekeeper take the USED bath towel off the bar, shake it out, fold it nicely, and set it back on the shelf. She saw me watching her, and said, “What? It’s dry.”

-Hiding dirt and yuckiness. Most hotels, I suspect, put the beds together in this order: mattress pad, fitted sheet, flat sheet, blanket, comforter, pillow protectors, pillow cases. We all know about yucky comforters, but what about that mattress pad? Or the pillow itself, under the linens? Or the part of the blanket that is tucked into the foot of the bed? At the Ramada, I witnessed the following:

  -Blood spots on a mattress pad, turned around to the foot of the bed so as to be missed in case of an inspection by the boss.

   -Food or blood or who knows what else on a blanket, which had been flipped over with the stain tucked under the mattress.

   -Pillow protectors covered in hair left on the pillow, recovered by a pillow case, and put back on the bed-hairy side hidden.

   -Pillows taken from a particularly dirty pillow protector, only to be discovered to have blood spots on them, then returned to a clean protector and case and put back on the bed.

I think that’s the worst of the worst for you. Doesn’t it make you want to go stay in a hotel?

On the flip-side, working at La Quinta, where I stayed for well over a year (side note- I worked for Ramada less than two months, and saw all manner of horrible, disturbing laziness, whereas working for La Quinta for over a year, there were maybe a grand total of TWO minor things that bothered me), I was constantly impressed. Not just with my fellow housekeepers and their ability and willingness to do the job correctly, but with the amount of positive comment cards that guests left thanks to having clean rooms.

You wouldn’t think that finding a hotel with clean rooms would be that big a deal, eh? I didn’t, until my stint at Ramada.

Even more amazing to me, the job at La Quinta was so much more demanding than my other one. For instance, Ramada gave us fully 30 minutes to clean a room that someone just checked out of, and at La Quinta, we had ten minutes less, and yet the standards were so much higher, and the staff so much more efficient, that a room was never left in a questionable state of cleanliness.

Well, except the comforters. But even those were washed at least once a week. Basically, if a room smelled bad/weird, or the room was full of pet hair, or the room was very dirty, or there was the tiniest speck of unknown substance on the bed, the comforter was pulled, washed, and replaced. Same with the blanket, the mattress pad, the pillow protectors, and often the pillows themselves, too.

Why can’t all hotels be that way?

La Quinta didn’t do deep cleaning the way Ramada did. At first, I didn’t understand this; it seemed to me like a good idea to deep clean rooms frequently. But then, after a couple of weeks of a grueling pace and in-depth inspections, I got it. All of the housekeepers at La Quinta were basically deep-cleaning every single room, in 20 minutes or less, every day (with the exception of shampooing the carpet and taking ceiling vents apart).

I know that we can’t all avoid having to stay in a hotel/motel all the time. In fact, I wouldn’t want to- I quite enjoy spending a night or two in a clean hotel. But I thought people should know what to look for when they do stay somewhere- yes, even (or especially) large chains that you might not think to question.

So, to summarize:

Beware of hidden nastiness in hotel rooms, never trust the front desk person who promises you the room is spotless, and request an extra comforter and blanket when you check in.

 

Cleaning Makes Me Sentimental

I woke up today feeling extremely grateful for nearly everything in my life. Well, no, I actually didn’t wake up that way, but as I went about busily tidying the house (company for the weekend, or else why on earth would I be cleaning at eight o’clock in the morning?) I began to realize that my husband, son and I are a very blessed (or lucky, if you prefer) little family.

I started out appreciating having a house to clean in the first place. The house we live in is small, much of it is out-dated, and I have a heck of a time with the floors, because they’re wood, but they’re not sealed, and that makes mopping a bit of an issue. I’m very particular about muddy feet stomping through the house. But, as I was saying, none of that matters. I know there are probably some people who would be mortified to live in a place that doesn’t have top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art anything, but you know? I like it here. It’s very comfortable and cozy and just the right size for my tiny family.

Also, we don’t pay rent. The house belongs to my husband’s grandmother, and it was built by her father. Family history aside, who could possibly complain about living in a house very nearly for free? Granted, were things a little different, my husband and I certainly would be paying rent here, but that’s a story for another time, perhaps.

I’m extremely thankful for my son. He’s a bit over 9 months old now, and his personality is beginning to show and he does something new and different every day. Considering that there was a time in my life when I thought children were an impossibility, I can’t really properly describe just how incredibly glad I am to have Baby in my life.

And my husband, Clint, is fantastic. He supports our family willingly and cheerfully, he helps and encourages me in whatever crazy ideas I get (or he pulls me back down to earth when my ideas are too crazy). He doesn’t complain when I send him to the store for diapers, formula, girly stuff, or more creamer for my coffee (which he finds to be completely ridiculous, as he thinks creamer is disgusting). He makes me laugh, and he lets me yell at him when I’m angry, and he gets along with (most of) my family.

I feel lucky to be a part of both my own and Clint’s families, and I’m extremely blessed to have a best friend who never judges but supports me and makes me see the world in a different (funnier) way.

I’m grateful for smaller things, too…coffee, soft pillows, vitamins, college-ruled spiral notebooks, magnetic letters, fluffy towels, rubber duckies, and fuzzy socks.

The one thing I’ve found today that I’m not particularly glad to have is…cats. They’re tearing up my house, bit by tiny bit, and leaving clumps of fur behind them like a trail. Three cats is too many, but I haven’t got the heart to throw any of them out for good…it gets awfully cold at night.

I realize this may have been more appropriate for a Thanksgiving post, but I was too busy at the time with baking and running around like a chicken with its head cut off to stop and smell the roses, so to speak.

Boldly Going Forward

As promised, I have decided to return to my little corner of the world- both virtually and literally, because I actually do sit in a corner of my living room while I write. I’m tucked between 3 book shelves, a sofa, and the Christmas tree (the one I put up weeks ago), and I’m perched on an ottoman. Very cozy, but very besides the point.

The previous week’s festivities have left me with much to consider, much to regret (who honestly needs that much PIE?), and even more to be very, very grateful for, and to look forward to.

Wednesday directly preceding Thanksgiving was a day of baking, cleaning, and talking on the phone, jinxing people. Yes, jinxing them. I told my best friend not to burn the pies she was baking, and she told me to take that back because since I’d said it, she probably would burn them. I told her, “Go ahead and burn them, then.” I hope that un-did the damage. I told my sister, who would be traveling for the holiday, not to break down on the side of the road somewhere. I’ll have to call her soon and find out if she did.

Thanksgiving Day was spent attacking some hard-boiled eggs that were far too fresh to peel nicely, and then eating dinner at my mother’s house with a few of my family members who were not too far away to come over and help devour turkey and a portion of several pies.

Friday, we had another dinner with Clint’s family, and despite my vows that I wouldn’t, I ventured to Walmart late in the afternoon and purchased items I didn’t actually need. Clint was very understanding, as he knows that if he hands me a credit card and doesn’t strictly tell me NOT to purchase items I don’t actually need, I will probably return with purchased items that I don’t actually need.

Friday was also the first time in my life that I witnessed a blizzard that included thunder and lightning, and although it only lasted maybe twenty minutes, it was super cool to watch (from the safety and warmth of my grandma-in-law’s dining room).

All of that has brought me to today, this lovely, sunshiny Saturday, on which I have returned to my corner feeling a sense of anticipation and excitement over getting several projects underway.

The biggest one, and the one I am slightly dreading even while looking forward to it, is working out with Jillian Michaels. One of the two videos by her that I ordered arrived yesterday, and today will be the first time I make an attempt to mimic her in my small living room, probably with Baby looking on and wondering what the heck is wrong with Mommy. But that’s alright, because at least for now, he can’t comment on my insanity and make me wish I could sweat up a storm in private. Regardless, the exercise is necessary, and I quite like the idea of challenging myself and pushing myself to keep up with it.

The second project is both easier and more difficult. As I’ve said, I’m terrible with organization (although I can tell other people how to get organized, no problem). Therefore, while my home is actually technically clean, it’s cluttered and many things haven’t got a place where they really belong. I’m on the verge of boxing up half the junk that’s lying around here and storing it in the basement where I won’t have to look at it anymore.

And so I’ve come up with an idea, inspired by something I heard from I don’t remember who about how some Amish woman cleans just one room in her home each day, and thereby is able to easily keep up with her domestic duties and her children.

Good idea, yeah? It seems so simple that I feel silly for not having thought of it before. However, now that I know about it, I can’t ignore it and continue to half-heartedly de-clutter every now and then. In a weird way, I feel a bit sad that I no longer have the excuse of “I don’t know where to PUT all this stuff!”, or another favorite of mine, “I’m so overwhelmed by all this junk we have lying around!”

If I’m only concentrating on a single room per day, it’s hard to feel overwhelmed by huge amounts of clutter.

The last project is this blog. It occurred to me at some point yesterday that I should just write about what I know. And what I know is being a wife, being a fairly new mom, and all the little things that fill up my days.

It also occurred to me that I’ve been writing about those things since I began this whole thing, and if I felt like my thoughts and posts were a bit all over the place, it was merely a reflection of the sort of day I was having.

And I kind of like that.

If I put too many restrictions on myself about what to post or not to post here, I’ll end up taking ME out of my own writing, and I’ll wind up with a boring, generic sort of blog that even I don’t want to read.

And so, the only ‘rule’ I’m giving myself is that I will only post to my blog AFTER having done the day’s work-out, and AFTER having cleaned (organized, de-cluttered, whatevered) the day’s room.

In theory, all this sounds quite simple and straight-forward. We’ll soon see how it works when put into practice.

 

Note: Yeah, I just realized I wrote “Boldy” in the title and left it that way for the last hour or so. Having fixed it now doesn’t make me feel any less dumb.

It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it.

Today is one of those cloudy, chilly, windy fall days that make me want to curl up on the sofa under a fuzzy blanket and read until I fall asleep.

Instead, I’m sitting here wondering why I’m not Martha Stewart, or Rachel Ray, or one of those women on HGTV that can clean, cook, organize, and create.

Neither of the afore mentioned things are what I’m supposed to be doing.

What I’m supposed to be doing is actually cleaning, possibly cooking, certainly organizing, and if I have time left over, creating.

Aside from the fact that we are expecting a visit from my mother-in-law at the end of the week, the house is actually quite a disaster.

There are baby items (play-pen, bouncy car thingy, miniature rocking chair) scattered through the living room, coats flung on the sofa when they ought to be hung up, shoes kicked unceremoniously beneath the over-hang of the counter, books sneaking off their shelves, movies waiting to be put away.

That’s just one room.

Honestly, I don’t know where my day goes sometimes. One minute, it’s 7:00 a.m and the baby is kicking around in his crib waiting for me to change his diaper and feed him, and the next it’s nearly five o’clock and my husband will be home soon and I haven’t achieved anything at all except for singing silly songs to my son and possibly washing a plate or two.

So what the heck am I doing now? It’s only just 2:30 in the afternoon, Baby is having a nap, and there is laundry in the washing machine that would get dry much faster if I were to actually re-locate it TO the dryer.

I keep telling myself that it’s alright, I’ve got this under control. I can write for a few more minutes, shake the cat off the pile of coats so I can hang them, sweep and mop and vacuum and wash and scrub and straighten up in just a matter of an hour or so.

I’d really like to have a maid, I think.

But then, on the other hand, I honestly would hate that. Aside from being perfectly capable of doing my own dirty work, to have some stranger (or even worse, someone I know) snooping around my home would be unbearable, and I’d have to follow along behind her and fix things to my liking. And then the maid would get insulted and we’d have to have a cat-fight and I really don’t want to have to hurt somebody.

I mean, she’d just be doing her job.

…the job that I ought to be doing.

I spend a lot of time during any given day considering how best to re-arrange my house so that cleaning and organizing would be easier.

Really, I’m just procrastinating, despite the fact that if I could just move the desk out, the living room would never be messy again…

Or if only we could have a flat screen television mounted on the wall instead of taking up precious space on the tiny TV stand…

Or if little elves would come through and de-clutter everything so I wouldn’t have to do much but dust…

There I go again.

If I spent as much time cleaning as I do thinking about cleaning, this place would be immaculate. Spotless. Pristine.

But I’ve exerted too much energy by letting my thoughts run rampant, and now I haven’t got any left for washing the dishes.

And so continues the vicious cycle.

*sigh*