Posts Tagged ‘Housekeeping’



What is it they say? 
Art imitates Life? 
Or Sunday comics imitate laundry day? 

While my brother and his wife are on their cruise, I am doing laundry for 3 rambunctious “tweens- semi-tween.” 
(My nephew acts close enough to a tween, to be included.)

This should really be no big deal. 
I did the laundry of 4 boys for many years; but I don’t remember missing this many socks at my house. 
I remember taking little terry cloth sleepers and warm receiving blankets out of the dryer; pairs of jeans that were smaller than my arm. 
Everything had a Carter’s, Osh Kosh, or Health-Tex label.  Maybe I’ve been sniffing the bottle of Downy too much today, I am feeling a bit weepy for the old days. 

Now I am washing things with sparkles and so much pink that I feel like there has been an estrogen explosion.  This must be what it’s like to have a daughter.  I have been informed that “this is only to be washed in cold water and that never goes in the dryer!”  I have been able to redeem my faux pas by painting her toe nails a VERY hot pink…what else.

At the moment there are 5 socks on the dryer…missing their mates. 
If these wayward socks have found their way into your dryer, let me know…we’ll arrange a swap. 



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Ohana –

Ohana means family….family means that sometime in the middle of the night my 12 year old son along with my 8 year old nephew and his 12 year old sister, my niece will have crawled into bed with me.  At least that means there is no room for the dogs and the cat. 
Tomorrow when Hubby arrives, these 3 will have to find other accommodations in the middle of the night. 
(Of course, I didn’t know that they had been watching an episode of “It Could Happen Tomorrow”  about a futuristic earthquake off the coast of Seattle and the subsequent tsunami, while I was blogging….My fault…my bad.)

Ohana means family….family that is spending part of her summer vacation watching her niece and nephew while her baby brother and his wife, go on a Hawaiian cruise…by themselves.
It’s okay. 
When my brother returns, Hubby and I are taking our own trip…by ourselves. 
One of the stops on our tour of the Olympic Peninsula is going to be the sleepy little town of Forks, Washington…home of Twilight. 


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Around this time every year, the ironing board comes out.  I search through the linen closet for the spray starch and the iron, I got as a wedding gift MANY years ago.  (Yes, it is the kind that plugs in…..) 

Summer vacation is over, it’s time to go back to work.  All the office clothes come out from hiding.  Each item gets the once over and the….”Well I guess this could use some ironing.”  My sons see this and say, “Mom’s ironing!  Time to go back to school!”  Yes, I only iron once a year.  Once everything has been worn to work and then laundered again, that blouse is on its own.  I confess, I have NEVER ironed my sheets.  Who’s going to see them? 

Do you remember the new product that Downy Soft Rinse came out with?  It was supposed to all but eliminate wrinkles.  Well – I am hoarding gallons of it in the bomb shelter.  If it is true that cockroaches will survive humans, they won’t have to worry about wrinkles. 

Seriously, the fabrics of our generation are not those of our mother’s or grandmother’s.  (Is anyone else glad that the bullet-proof polyester of the 70’s is gone?)  When things are taken out of the washer promptly, (not allowed to dry in a twisted bunch in the washer…..I never do that) and then quickly hung up, there are very few wrinkles. My family has never looked like Shar-Pei puppies when they left the house. 

Thinking about ironing or rather not ironing, reminds me of a story…C’mon you knew one was coming. 

When Sam was barely three…, Oh, Sam was an outspoken little dear…  

We were in our drug store waiting to pick up a prescription.  Seems I had managed to pick up a lovely little skin condition from one of the children in my day care business at the time.  My business ended shortly after this event, because I was tired of checks bouncing and the ‘little skin condition’ left me thinking about signing up to be an ‘extra’ in a remake of Ben Hur. 

This case of ringworm was not just a ‘little bump’, this was seriously nasty.  After three trips to the doctor, she finally saw the rash in its full glory, or gory, take your pick,  I was hoping that it would be ‘three times the charm’ for this new ointment, and it would be cleared up for good.

We waited near the pick up window, after I had steered Sam away from the condom and personal hygiene aisle… “Really, they’re balloons for grown ups”…Into the pharmacy walked a woman in a black cocktail dress, stiletto heels, & blond hair that looked like it never had “Chicken Mc Nugget fingers” run though it…(her loss).  To coin a phrase from my father-in-law…”she was stacked like a brick outhouse.”  (Personally, I’ve never seen a brick porta-potty.)  

Sam immediately gave her the once over.  Then he looked over at his mommy.  Stirrup pants…remember those?  One of Daddy’s over-sized t-shirts, running shoes, no makeup and hair pulled into a pony tail.  I was the before photo for Extreme Makeover.  He looked at me and smiled.  I wondered if Sammy had ever seen “tired Mommy” dressed up.  More importantly, I silently wished that the pharmacist would hurry with my medicine. 

Sam continued to stare at the woman in black.  She did not appear to be very comfortable around children, or maybe it was because Sam was circling her, in a friendly manner….(I knew I shouldn’t have let him watch “Shark Week”….)  He finally looked up at her, batted his eye lashes and said, “We’re here to get medicine for my mommy’s rash!”   She gave me a weak smile; at least she didn’t burst into hysterical laughter…

Why wasn’t there a hole for me to climb into?   I tried to distract Sam with an informational brochure on hangnails or something light hearted like that.  My usual standby, the blood pressure machine was out of order.  The highlight of a trip to the drug store was taking mom’s blood pressure.  It was a good thing that it was out of order; I didn’t want to know that my b/p was 160/100. 

The pharmacist told the blond bombshell that her prescription would be up next.  Apparently mine was taking some time.  It must be tricky to mix ‘eye of newt’ with ‘wolfsbane’.  Sam seized the opportunity, he slid off the chair where I had him cornered, walked over to the blond woman, and before I could scoop him up, he looked up at her and said, “My Mommy has an iron and an ironing board – and she never uses them!”  I looked at her, smiled and I said, “This is such a proud Mom moment!”

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     I have long been of the opinion that dust “is a protective coating.”  You can also write a quick note to a loved one, or a phone number, if no paper is available when you take that pesky phone call.  As Martha Stewart says, “it’s a good thing….” Yes, I know she never meant to include dust. 

    We have finally come out of the Stone Age and entered the Modern Era in our home.  We’ve gone wireless, with fiber optics.  (Those two things may not even go together, I am the first to admit that I am technically challenged as you will later learn in a post yet to be released.)  We were scheduled for service that took ALL day.  I figured that the technician would plug in a couple of things and we’d be set.  After he had been working for about an hour, he started sneezing.  I was afraid that he was allergic to the cats. Hmm no, it was the dust.  It was pretty embarrassing the amount of dust and ‘calico mouse’ cat toys that were behind and underneath the wall unit.  In my defense, let me say that this is a MASSIVE wall unit. 

     Our technician, I’ll call him Joe, had to run out for a missing piece of equipment.  Personally, I think he was going to find some Benadryl.  The moment his truck left the driveway, I yelled, “Somebody grab the vacuum!!” Before ‘Joe’ returned, there wasn’t a missing cat toy or spec of dust to be found in my house, the carpet looked brand new.  The underwear and socks behind our son’s bedroom door were even gone.  All of our cats’ playthings were neatly tucked in their toy basket.  Our gray and yellow cat sat next to it, awaiting Joe’s return. 

     Joe was able to finish without incident or sneeze, and even found it amusing that the cat sat nearby as he worked, watching.  She does the same thing with our plumber, and I could swear that if the plumber asked her, she’d hand him a wrench. 

     Now we have Internet in the time it takes to breathe, a total of 22 assorted cat toys were found and returned to the fold, and I won’t have to dust for say…at least 6 months…or until the next workman arrives.  I will be forever grateful that there will be no dust in Heaven.

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