personal best

I did 3 loads of dishes in one day. And I also mopped the floor. With a mop. (A mop that I bought 10 months ago but was still in the plastic until this weekend. The mopping is a first for me. I have never owned or used a mop before, in any abode. Except when I was a kid, since I can't remember if my parents owned a mop.)

- journal of the slovenly housewife

laundry woes

I have discovered a new aspect of my slovenly housewifeness.

For the first time ever, I have my own washer and dryer. I share it with no one (except DH, but he doesn't count). No one will be annoyed if I leave sheets in the dryer for a week. No one will be annoyed if I leave piles of clothes in the laundry area because I am avoiding folding them. And, finally, no one will have clothes that are put away.

In my previous existence as a tiny 1 bedroom apartment dweller, I would do laundry on the day that DH was going to run out of underwear. Or he would. (Actually, that is the grand strategy. Make sure you have more underwear than your partner and then they are forced to do laundry. Hopefully.)

So in this previous existence, on laundry day, I would scope out the laundry hut (because it was sort of like a hut) to make sure none of my neighbors was using it. We had an agreement that it was ok to move each others stuff. These agreements are IMPORTANT. I even mentioned it to each one early on to make sure there would be no issues. (Some people have issues.)

If available, I would haul out the first load of laundry and put it in the washer. Then I would come back in and set the chicken. (In our house, the timer is in the shape of a chicken. Thank you Karren! Although I am worried it might have met its end by being dropped one too many times. But I have not given up hope that it will once again become reliable.) 45 minutes later, the chicken would ring. And I would go outside, move the stuff to the dryer, put more stuff in the washer, etc. And then repeat. After each load was dry, I would come inside and dump it on our bed. We only have one laundry basket. I intend to keep it that way. It is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL for preventing the laundry basket syndrome that has befallen THOSE WHO SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS. Who live out of laundry baskets. Or used to. Anyway. Moving on. I had to set the chicken (timer) for fear that I would forget about laundry and one of our neighbors would try to use the washer and find our wet underwear instead. This was not ok. Or, they would interrupt my laundry groove by assuming I was finished when I was not.

So to jump to the end of the story, we would end up with piles of laundry on top of our bed that had to be put away before we could sleep that night. And so it was put away. Now, unfortunately, there are many other places besides the bed to put laundry and leave it. There is the washer. And dryer. And couch (recently acquired). Or on top of the dryer. Or on the floor. I could go on.

In order to prevent such laundry woes and attempt to decrease my slovenly housewifery, I must figure out a way around this "problem" of not having to share a washer/dryer. I could pretend someone else used it each night. Or I could pretend that anything left in the dryer grows mold (I don't have to pretend this for the washer, which is why it is less likely to have stuff in it for too long!) Or I could just give up and be grateful that at least I only have one laundry basket. Whatever happens, I'm thinking I might just continue with my trusted method of dumping it all on the bed. 

the good husband

...took out the trash for me. And did the dishes. And even bought me a reese's peanut butter cup. I really like those. Then he bought a chocolate bar for himself but let me eat half of it.

He eats the leftovers I don't want to eat. And he likes them.

But then he laughs at me when I make the "aaahhhhh!" distress noise. He thinks it is cute. It is true I usually make said shrieking noise when I drop food on the floor, but that is beside the point.

The point is, I have a good husband. Yay for me.

He even has moderate reactions to theft. Like yesterday when he was munching on something and I say, "hey come over here. What are you eating?" Then he shows me his three cashews. And I take them all.

He is turning 30 in June. I will still be 27. We will both be multiples of 3. At least for a little while. He rocks.

And yes I know I changed tense halfway through this post. So what.

kitchen staples

There are staples that belong in the kitchen, and then there are staples that do not! I have just made possibly the most frightfully stupid and brainless mistake known to my short career as a slovenly housewife.

It went like this. I was making dinner all normal-like.

(all normal-like, for those of you who may be wondering, is the same as saying in-a-normal-fashion.)

(in-a-normal-fashion means not being crazy)

(and crazy means crazy)

So I went to open a newly purchased packet of dried sage. It was in a plastic bag with the paper label stapled over the opening. I pulled out the two staples and left them on the counter while I measured out the sage for the soup. Then I used an elastic to wrap up the label and the bag and put it away. And then, naturally, I threw the staples away.

OR SO I THOUGHT!!!

Toward the end of the meal, DH found a staple in his soup. No--not even that! He found a staple in his mouth of food! ACK! I nearly expired on the spot. I tried to remember what I did with the staples. I threw them away, didn't I? But it was undeniably, a staple. There are no other staples in my kitchen. I must have put them in the soup! Which means there is one more staple hiding in the soup. What if he'd choked on it and died? It is a horrible thought. What if I swallowed a staple and didn't realize it? Is that possible?

Lesson #1. NEVER PUT STAPLES IN SOUP

Lesson #2. ALWAYS THROW THEM IN THE TRASH

Lesson #3. DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME

While transferring the leftover soup to a storage container, I was extremely pleased to discover the second staple. PHEW! Now we will still eat the rest of the soup (which was quite tasty otherwise) very very carefully, but without quite as much worry! Feel free to laugh. I give you leave. I have proven my slovenly housewifeness beyond the shadow of any doubt, if there ever was one.

extra cheese

There is this pile of extra towels in a wicker basket I keep in the bathroom. I haven't used more than the top towel or two in the years I've had them sitting there. DH thought we should scrub the floor (gasp!) underneath the basket and had the audacity to suggest moving it. Shocking!!!!

But we did and it was a good thing too. Some water must have gotten under it at some point because there was a slight discoloration of a few spots, but luckily nothing too scary. I decided to unload the basket to make sure there was nothing evil going in it its dark depths. Luckily, there was nothing evil. But to my surprise, I discovered much more than a pile of clean towels. I discovered the hidden treasure trove of bath and shower kits we'd gotten as wedding presents! I totally forgot they were there. In addition to the fizzing bath balls, bubble bath, and multiple bottles of shower gel, body scrub, etc., I found something... more.

It was a container of Kraft parmesan cheese!!! YESSSSS now we can rest easy knowing that the cheese is safe. The best part is that the expiration date on the container is 3 weeks BEFORE we got married 3 years ago. Poor cheese. You never even got a chance.

brilliant solution

I have come up with a brilliant (yet obvious--possibly so obvious you don't think of it?) solution to solve my lack-of-doing-dishes-motivation woes.

The solution is...use fewer dishes!

Thank you very much, it only took me more than 2 years of complaining to think of it. (I say two years because, while I've done dishes by hand for over 5 years now, I've done significantly more cooking since marrying DH (hence more pots to clean) and lets not forget the million bowls he uses.)

The best part of this solution is the implementation strategy. How to use fewer dishes? The answer: Get rid of all but two bowls, plates, and sets of silverware! Yes. This might work. ("Get rid of" can be loosely interpreted, of course. My version of "get rid of" is to put extra dishes in a slightly inaccessible cabinet with my China plates.) Now we will not be tempted to grab the clean bowl instead of cleaning the one in the sink, because there will be no other choice.

Let us cross fingers now.

by dint of the force of the dint

Dint.

I think I have never used this word in a sentence. And yet, I know it. Five years ago I could have told you the definition of several hundred GRE hit list words. I even tried to use them in sentences. But I forgot them all. Mostly. I still remember:

panacea

recidivism

and

pulchritude.

Many of them did leave a mark in my brain though. Often when I hear a vocabulary term I don't know, I remember that I USED to know it. Is knowing I forgot what it meant better than never knowing it at all? Hopefully.

And yet, suddenly I was seized with the notion that I must write about the word "dint" and even felt compelled to use it in the title in some witty way.

My first thought was to title the post, "by dint of reflection." I was then going to lament how I often recall 3 barefoot steps into the kitchen that I am supposed to be wearing shoes. The kitchen, at the moment, is home to many tiny shards of glass that I am ignoring for a while. Vacuuming and sweeping are tasks I avoid as long as possible. While I did sweep and vacuum the morning following the great glass explosion, I'm guessing I will not do it again until we have people over for dinner. A few weeks maybe. That's the only motivator I have to clean. Probably, there is not much glass left.

Yeah. Hence the shoes. The glass shards will be left in peace by dint of my shoes. Maybe I should re-title this blog "the slovenly housewife." Too bad the blog name is already taken. (http://slovenlyhousewife.blogspot.com/) I could give have given techniques for how to avoid dishes.

By dint of reflection I have decided to create a new tag. Slovenly housewife. It so rocks. There must be a dozen posts so far where I comment on my slovenliness. Now I can revel in it too.

the box that became part of the floor

Once upon a time there was a box. I packed it many years ago. It followed me from move to move, but I never opened it. There are a lot of boxes like that, but most of them are in my hope chest. However, this one was not. It's been sitting in front of my dresser for the last 1.5 years. It's far enough away that I can still open the drawers. Gradually it just became part of the floor. I vacuum around it, stack clothes on it, but mostly just forget about it. There are a couple other boxes like that..but I know what is in those. Hangers. Winter clothes. Etc.

About 8 years ago my mom and I went to Family Fabrics. It was a going-out-of-business sale. I chose a bunch of material (at lightning speed, according to my mom) that I could use to make a quilt for my bed. Then we bought two quilting books. Somewhere in a box is a bag of 20+ yards of fabric and the quilting book with my chosen design. Today I thought I'd try and find that box. Not wanting to go into the storm cellar if I didn't have to, I decided to open up the box that had become part of the floor. There was no fabric, but I discovered other long forgotten treasures.

1. My ancient white baby blanket.

2. Another baby blanket. I don't remember this one.

3. A beautiful pewter clock from my great grandmothers house. I'd totally forgotten I had it. (It was in pieces, so I tried to find a picture of how it fit together and eventually found this picture. I hung it up in the kitchen, and even replaced the zillion year old C-battery inside:)

4. A framed medallion for the Utah Aviation Hall of Fame in honor of my great grandfather.

5. Two boxes within the box. These will remain shrouded in mystery.

6. Old hymnals from earlier days of the LDS church.

7. I Have a Song for You, Volume 1 & 2!!!!!!! I was lamenting the fact not too long ago that I couldn't find these. Yay:)

Now if only I knew where that fabric went...

a world without vacuums

I have lived without a vacuum for more than 3 1/2 years. I took them for granted. Vacuums have always been a ubiquitous thing. Growing up, there were always at least two vacuums. Three if you count the wet vac. And yet, upon my moving to a zip code beginning with 9, the bleak reality of my situation came upon me. NO vacuum. And, naturally, buying one was out of the question since they are large and expensive and I had enough junk already when I knew I would be moving a zillion times (so far 1 zillion = 4 times).

Luckily, the first place I lived in a zip code beginning with 9 was in a graduate student apartment on campus that had low flat carpet (as opposed to fluffy--I really don't know my carpet lingo). Sometimes I tried to sweep it. Generally I just picked up stuff when I saw it. After a few months my roommate was made the temporary owner of her friend's vacuum while that friend was away for the summer. Unfortunately, anything we sucked up with it just went out again in a cloud of dust and smoke. The next two apartments I lived in had vacuums that belonged to other people, and so I lived in bliss for a while. And now I live in an apartment with no carpet at all, still without a vacuum. Do you know how much dust can build up on wood floors? Sweeping just isn't my thing either.

Finally, after being told by the neighbor that the dust collecting around the heater was a fire hazard, I realized that I was an adult now and should have my own vacuum. Sigh.

So I bought this vacuum, and I JUST used it and LOVE it! Vacuuming up huge piles of dust is just like flossing when you've got lots of plaque: Really satisfying:)