Today, November 16, 2012

Today’s project:  Ruling the dominion of a domestic goddess

God love Rosanne Barr for giving us the moniker ‘domestic goddess’ to describe the everyday tasks and tribulations of an ordinary housewife.

Today my plans of grocery shopping and other errand-type runnings was cruelly thwarted by the fact that there was no school.  DURN YOU Plan-Ruining Fates! I shake my fist in the air at you!  And maybe throw in a raspberry or two…

Well, fine.

What to do?

Plan B, I guess… And Plan B was ‘clean the house’ (and other household tasks).

I hate Plan B.

Anyways, I decided to just rip the band-aid and get it done.  As I told me girls today, the sooner we get it done, the sooner we can get back to doing fun things.

I, long ago, made what we call ‘the chore box.’ It isn’t fancy (which gives me a little twinge every time we bust it out, but you know, you can’t be Donna Reed ALL the time!).  It is a plastic index card box and a handful of index cards.  On each card is the ‘chore’, where to do that chore and the steps to do it.  For example, one card is titled ‘SWEEP’ and lists the kitchen, bathroom, living room around the rug, and foyer, etc. and then things like ‘pick up all the rugs’ and such. We pull all the cards out of the box and each person chooses what chore they would like to do.  When you are done with your chore, you put the card back in the box and choose another card.  We do this until all the cards are back in the box and all the chores are done. 

I find this system really works to get the kids working because it takes a bit of the ‘have to’ out of the process since they get to choose a card.

As my girls started with their choices, I dug into ironing the hubby’s shirts.

I hate ironing.  I hate Plan B.

I’m pushing that durn iron around on the board and a million thoughts are going through my head.  I thought I would share them with you…LIST!

1.  Why, o why, are things made for just non-tall people?  ’  Our ironing board is an old-fashioned, in-the-wall-hidden-cleverly-behind-a-door contraption that loses a lot of its MacGyver coolness by being mounted about a foot too low to be comfortable for me.  I decided I would combine exercise and thigh/butt slimming techniques by squatting while I ironed.  I abandoned this quickly when I felt like I must look like an aboriginal woman giving birth in a hut in the Outback.  Countertops, desks, tables all mock me every time I go to use them.  With a cackle they say to me, ‘Tall people are not worth accommodating!’

2.  I’m reminded of my father.  My dad is an ex-Navy super-dude who would be utterly shocked at my efforts at ironing.  I remember when I graduated from high school and he spent 2 ½ hours ironing all the stupid wrinkles out of my disposable polyester graduation gown.  I thought he was so silly to stand there cursing at that thing that I was about to wrinkle the crap out of by sitting in it for 3 hours.  But I appreciated his efforts.

3.  I’m reminded of my mother.  Who currently irons all of my dad’s laundry.  And I applaud her patience as she spends a couple of hours every week pressing pants, dress shirts, shorts and polo shirts.  I know my dad isn’t as bad about knife sharp pleats as he used to be…and he MUST have mellowed since he doesn’t make her iron his undershirts and underwear.  Although, I have a sneaky suspicion that periodically, he goes behind her and re-irons stuff. ;)

4.  I’m grateful to my parents for instilling in me a mild case of OCD.  Silver linings all over the place!  Wait, should I polish those?

5.  I’m missing an additional helper who was the first to suggest that ‘chore day’ be on Friday.  She had a whole list of reasons that it made sense to do it on Friday versus any other day of the week.  I wish I could remember that list.  I remember it made me smile when she told me.

6.  I hate Plan B.

7.  I turned on the radio in the kitchen while we worked and they were playing Christmas music.  All of us did a little happy dance as we gleefully hummed along to jolly tunes.  I love Christmas music.

8.  I’m glad that Boo has told me that her favorite chore to do is dusting.  Because that is my least favorite chore.  Score!

9.  It amazes me how much I like to speak in simile and hyperbole.  Like a Jersey girl in a leopard print factory…

10.  Since I’m exhausted after doing all of this work, I think I should be able to count this as exercise.  As such, I’m going to go sit on the couch, drink a bad-for-me soda and watch a Lifetime movie.  I mean, the world needs balance and I don’t want the scale to tip on my account – for having done too much ‘good’ stuff without throwing some ‘bad’ in.

So in the end, I smacked that domestic goddess list-of-crap like it was a $10 French HO and I was it’s pimp!

As the ruler of this domain, I hereby decree this blog to be clean and organized…enough.

Today, November 14, 2012

Today’s project:  Virtual Christmas Giving

Whoever used to own our house had some serious expendable income.  At least that is the conclusion I drew based on the mail that we still get for them.  This mostly consists of high-end item catalogues.

Now I LOVE a good catalogue.  Frankly, I would much rather flip through the inky pages, folding down edges, circling with a marker, pasting little flags than spend any time clicking around on the net.  I’m an old-fashioned girl at heart.  (As if you haven’t figured that out already, if you are a regular reader).  I think it reminds me of the GLORIOUS day of my youth…the one you waited for all summer with baited, peanut butter smelling, breath…the day when the Sears TOY catalogue came in the mail. 

Oh, I remember with glee and a grin the hopping up and down and the hours, I mean literally hours spent looking at every single page.  Even the pages with ‘baby’ toys.  (oh come on, some of those baby toys are pretty cool)

So now, as an adult, there is no small amount of excitement in me that rises when I see that the mail box has brought me a catalogue.  Even when it is full of stuff that I would never buy.  Even if my pockets were full of indiscriminate dollars.

As I was paging through the latest surprise from the mailperson, I find myself over and over with the following thought: “Man!  I wish I had fat cash.  Because I would so get that for [fill in the blank friend].”

Then the Tabernacle Choir went off in my head with a big “AHHHHAHAHAHHAHHH!”

Why not ‘send’ these gifts to my friends virtually?  I mean, we are told over and over again that it is ‘the thought that counts’, right?  So, my thoughts are actually gonna COUNT this year!  That’s right!  My friends are going to be impressed by what I would have bought them.  Lots of fun and zero dollars spent!

Ok, because this is a virtual thing, what better place to ‘host’ it than Facebook, right? I set up a FB event invited a handful of friends, explaining my idea.  I also set up a couple of ‘rules’…

1.  No ‘shopping’ until Black Friday (Look, I love Christmas just as much as the next 5-year old adult, but seriously, let’s get through Thanksgiving first, k?)

2.  This doesn’t eliminate your opportunity to exchange ‘real’ gifts if you get the urge (see previous comment about my maturity age – I am just as excited to see what Santa brought as the kids are)

3.  IF we decide to give ‘real’ gifts, I asked if we could all agree to ‘create’ what we give. (I did this once with another group of girl friends years ago and I still treasure and use what I received that year – to me, the ultimate success of a gift)

I’m really excited about this idea and am hoping that it provides us at least a giggle throughout a season that tends to be pretty durn stressful when it should be joyful.

So, if you will excuse me, I have some virtual Christmas ornaments to unpack in prep for Thanksgiving weekend…Wanna help?

Today, November 12, 2012

Today’s project:  Rise from the depths of ‘eh’

So, my Dad said to me yesterday, “Whatever happened to that blog-thing? Did you give that up?”

And I answered, quite truthfully, “Well, I have been doing things every day, I just can’t decide what to right about.”

The more time that passes, the more time it’s like making that pesky phone call.  You know the one that I’m talking about, right?  The phone call to an old friend or a relative that you had every intention of keeping in regular contact with, but keep getting distracted by the day-to-day activities of life until it’s ‘too late in the evening to call’, or ‘a day you know they won’t be home’, or ‘when they are at work/church/school.’  And just frankly the wrong time to try.

And then the next thing you know, it’s been a week since you intended to call…then a month…and then…well, you get the idea.  You avoid thinking about it, let alone doing it, because you are sure that the person will be mad at you…or at least give you the ‘Gee, I’d given you up for dead’ guilt-trip.

Avoidance seems the best course at that point, don’t you think?

My blog became that ‘I should call them’ relative. 

Not that I didn’t have plenty to say.  Some days, I did two or three projects that I could chat about.  I started to congratulate myself on the fact that I was ‘ahead’ – I could pre-plan and write posts for those days I was too busy or too tired to make it to my computer for more than a few minutes.

Good job, Rora!  Pat on the back for you!

Well, dear reader, as you well know, that doesn’t amount to ‘a pile of Armadillo poop.’  (Eloquently stated by Burt Reynolds in Best Little Whorehouse in Texas)

In addition to all of the above psychological fun that would make Freud as giddy as a kindergartener in a Play-Doh factory, there is the all present feeling of ‘eh’.  That lovely state of ennui that takes any motivation I did have and rolls it up into a little ball and shoves it under the rug.  That has occurred so much over the past week that it is starting to look like I killed someone and stashed them under the living room Moroccan masterpiece.

Which brings me back to today.

I STILL have lots of exciting blogs planned and may even get to one today, but right now the biggest project I have is completing this post…rising above the waves of guilt, the nervousness that my readers are mad at me, and that durn pesky feeling of ‘eh’.

So, dear reader, I hope that you can forgive me for my absence.

And I promise to call…really!

Today, November 2, 2012

Today’s project: Halloween aftermath

I planned on posting today about Halloween – showing pics of the girls in their costumes and talking about the party at school that I helped with.  Then I had one of the most real ‘waking dreams’ I’ve ever had in my whole life, and I realized some stuff.  And my Strong Opinion Friend told my I must blog about it.  (If you knew this friend, you would understand why one can't really say 'no' to her. =) )

I’m weird.  I know this.  I’ve accepted it.  If you knew my parents, you would know that I come by it naturally.  But since they are some of the coolest people I know, I consider myself lucky to be born of such strange stock. =)

Everyone has little quirks and I’m proud to say that mine extend to dreams.  I’m prone to what I call ‘waking dreams.’  These are a series of dreams where I dream that I wake up, and then I dream that I wake up, and then I dream that I wake up again.  I will have several of these in succession so that sometimes when I DO actually wake up, I have to take a couple of minutes to see if I’m actually awake or just still dreaming.  Often in these dreams, I’ll start my day, getting up and taking a shower or having a conversation with loved ones.  Then later, I have to stop and consider which part was ‘real’ and what was not.  The conversations are a little strange in content but are very realistic otherwise, which tends to freak me out a little. My sweetie always looks at me a little askew when I have to say, ‘Did we really discuss the virtues of Malibu Barbie versus Iron Man?’

Usually, there are little things that let me know that it was a dream and not real. Such as the content of the conversations, or the fact that the shower was bigger, etc. This time, I was totally fooled by my clever subconscious. Dang it.

My dear sweetie has quite a drive to work in the morning and has to be there by at least 7:45, and so he leaves pretty early - generally before I have managed to get my happy butt out of bed.  Not a big deal, generally; he leaves and I roll over for a few more minutes of shut-eye before dragging babies out of bed and kicking them out the door to school.

Now, I would have stood before GOD himself and swore that this is what happened this morning:

He left as usual, giving me a sweet peck on the head as he went out of the room.  Then he came back, laid down next to me and then…said nothing for a bit.  Having been ‘wakened’ by his return, I annoyingly say, ‘What do you need?’  At this point, he, in a loving, ‘I just want to help’ kind of way, proceeds to tell me that the mess in the living room is a little much.  ‘Can I take some of the stuff to my school for you?  To get it out of the house/way?’ he asks.  This is a dumb idea cuz I will just make him bring it right back again; which is exactly what I tell him.  Some more kibitzing goes on back and forth that I can’t quite remember and then I say, ‘Can I just go back to sleep now?’  I feel guilty for being so cranky, but I’m stinking tired!  He gets up, gives me another peck on the head and says that he’ll see me later tonight for the good night kiss he didn’t get last night.

Ok, so I wake up (for real this time) about an hour later, and thinking that this conversation actually occurred, am pretty peeved.  I send my love an email as an opportunity to apologize as well as a ‘head’s up’ that he’s in trouble and about to get it.

The email reads:  'Did you come in and complain to me about a mess this morning? Please tell me I dreamed it.'

As I wait for his reply, I’m obsessively formulating clever and scathing retorts for his ‘mess issues’ which include, but are not limited to, pointing out the underwear on the floor and such.

His reply causes no shortage of chagrin on my part:  'Nope.  You were dreaming.  I haven’t complained about anything in a long time.'

Ahem.  Ahem, I say.  Never mind! =)

The weirdness continues dear reader!  After I had this email discussion/apology with my love, I opened my daily horoscope message to see this:

‘Your dreams may get your heart racing because they seem so real.’

Crreeeeeeeepppppppyyyyyyyy!

Back to the things that occurred to me (and apologies for the short-story-long)…

I like Halloween, but really, the things I like best about this holiday are the scary, weird things.  Like horror movie marathons.  And spooky ‘true’ ghost stories.  And ‘what-the-heck-was-that-noise’ feelings.  The costumes and candy…I could care less about really.  When you are an actor, playing dress-up is your job and so it loses a lot of its appeal.  The best analogy I can come up with is thinking that a cardiologist would be excited about a blood drive.  Additionally, since I’m stuck making costumes for the kids for weeks beforehand, I’m usually just glad it’s over.

When a holiday rolls around, I feel like we are usually so wrapped up in the prep and action it entails that we are relieved when it’s done. Then the decorations, as well as the sentiment and fun, get put away until next year.  With a big ‘Whew!’ the enjoyment is done and the whole thing is no more than an afterthought, a ‘remember that one time’ feeling, until it rolls around again.

And it occurred to me (FINALLY! It’s here!), that we don’t have to do that.  Why can’t we enjoy the elements that excite us about these occasions all year long? 
Why can’t I decide to wear a costume on January 15^th?  Just cuz it’s January 15^th? 

Or why can’t I make a turkey dinner with all the fixings on June 28? 

Or send cards with pictures of Santa on them in April?

So, I’ve decided, and I think you should go along with me on this trip, Dear Reader, that I’m going to have holiday fun all year long.  I’ll let you know how it goes. You do the same, ok?

Oh, yeah.  Here’s the pics I promised… =)

Moaning Myrtle

Poison Ivy

me