Promise and Sparkle

I was in a world-class funk last week. It happens, periodically. Everything feels heavier, and life loses its promise and sparkle for me.

On Friday, I went to Target, killing time before picking Owen up from a field trip. To combat the sparkle issue, I purchased four dollar earrings---three of them actually. Fake diamonds, fake pearls, and fake studs.

I also picked up The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin.  If you're not familiar, it's a woman's attempt to uncover some of the secrets of happiness by field-testing theories by philosophers and experts. I'm not done yet, but I'm finding a lot of practical advice.

One thing she mentioned was energizing your space by reducing clutter. And so I organized a drawer.

And another. And another. I mercilessly tossed the clutter, and learned that nobody, not even a Marylander, needs four cans of Old Bay.

I bought file boxes, and made a hanging file for each year of my sons' lives. I finally have a place for the certificates and assorted crafts that their wives will appreciate some day.

There is a joy knowing, with absolute certainty, that an item is home. That it belongs. That amidst the highs and lows of hormones and serotonin---those chemicals that can humble a person---at least the markers all have caps. The colors will still sing on the page.

When I sat down to write this, I spent a few moments looking for the camera cord to download the pictures I took of my new clean spaces, so full of promise and light.

I couldn't find it anywhere. It was lost.

And instead of crying or stewing or just giving up, I took blurry photos with my phone, and laughed. What are ya gonna do?

I guess there's something to the whole de-cluttering thing.. Empty spaces, surprisingly enough, can fill a person right up.

Houseness

In my oh-so-illustrious blogging career, I've discovered a few truths about comments.

1. People will comment if you write about your vagina.

2. People will comment if you write about embarrassing crushes. (Especially if you admit your lust love for Benjamin Linus and Malcolm Gladwell.)

3. People love to share their opinions about painting and home repair in general.

In light of this, I thought I would tell of the time my vagina repainted my master bedroom under the watchful gaze of a post-coital Michael Cera:

I find this guy nerdy-hot, and even I find that mental image shudderific.

(Although I do wonder how a vagina would paint a bedroom. My guess is badly.)

This incredibly long buildup is to let the one reader who might care about such things know that I've finally completed the home repair project I blogged about on March 23, 2010. 

The room used to look like this:

 

I'm not sure what was most offensive about this room....the One Day at a Time inspired comforter, the 80s-fabulous lamp, or the lovely bullfighting picture. Let's not forget the CORAL paint sample on my wall. 

There may be additional reasons why we don't have a third child. This is not a room conducive to sexy time.

This paint sample and all the related ugly-ocity remained festering in my room until Tuesday. We bought a duvet cover, painted the room, and now retire to this: 

 

It is still a work in progress. The lamp is too big for the corner bookcase, and I'm not sure that the curtain will stay. But now, at least, I don't feel like I'm living in a set from Boogie Nights. 

Since I'm totally getting my Martha Stewart on, let me tell you about my other attempt at houseness. 

My kids and I go on lots of walks. During these walks, Owen collects rocks, leaves, and other organic materials and takes it home for his "treasure box." We now have three of them: 

These are the three vases from the three bouquets of flowers I have been given  in my entire life recently.

The far left holds bits of coral found along the banks of the Chesapeake. The far right holds various treasures, including rocks, Sweet Gum Balls, shells, rocks, and rocks. I plan on using it to maim any midnight intruders. The one in the middle contains the acorns found on my front steps. 

These three treasure boxes remind me that it doesn't take much to find wonder and beauty in this world. It doesn't take too much to make your kid happy. It isn't that hard to make things pretty. 

That is, unless, you're picking up the acorns with your vagina. That's a whole other story.

Freakin' Fabulous

 I recently acquired this bitchy little book from the public library:

It taught me quite a bit. Mainly, that I am not fabulous. Not even a little bit. 

Some selected quotes:

"From the ankles up, you could be dressed like Coco Chanel, but with any of these [unsuitable pictured shoes] on your feet, your style quotient will never be higher than that of the guy who runs the Tilt-A-Whirl...comfort doesn't matter." 

My non-fabulous response:

"Plopping a bunch of disparately designed products on your countertops is like wearing those free T-shirts companies give away when launching new motor oil." 

WHUT? 

"I believe refrigerators are for keeping Sauvignon Blanc chilled to 38 degrees, not for displaying children's art. Put a corkboard up in Johnny's room and pin his works where he can enjoy them." 

So...no homemade, indoor windsock then?

"And toys. How many parents have their fabulousness quotient disastrously diminished due to their entire dwelling being under Barbie siege?" 

 Oh, dear. We certainly aren't very fabulous. 

I don't even want to know what he thinks of our paper blinds:

Before I drink away my sorrows with a decidedly non-fabulous Subtle Melon Electrolyte Drink, let me point out this one detail:

Because I checked this book out of the library, Clinton Kelly didn't get a single red cent from me, 

That, my friends, is fabulous indeed.

Happy Pictures and Design Intervention

No deep thoughts today, just a few pictures of things that made me smile:

Free pastry at Starbucks day!

This is the first time Owen has ever drawn a picture of me. I'm considering making this into a tattoo, because I love it so much. 

The patio furniture is out! Would you believe that this tenacious little rosemary survived the winter? Love that. 

An entire episode dedicated to Richard Alpert, aka "Guyliner" on tonight's Lost. SQUEEE!

***

While you're still here, could you do me a favor? 

This is our master bedroom. I hate the color of the walls. I mean, it sucks a bit of my soul away every time I enter the room. 

I'm not in love with the bedspread, but we are too cheap too environmentally sound to replace a perfectly good bedspread.

I thought that it would be fun to paint it a bold, bright coral color. 

I've learned the hard way that a color that looks good on my toes does not necessarily look good on my walls.

It's not exactly the best color for relaxing and sexy time. 

So, dear friends, please tell me what color to paint my walls, m'kay? 

Thanks in advance!

House Hunters Drives Me to Drink

Dear House Hunters on HGTV,

You are totally harshing my mellow.

Being that I had total control of the remote last night, I watched your fine program, House Hunters. It took about five minutes for me to be consumed with irrational hatred regrading everything and everyone involved with the show.

It took place in Las Vegas, and the house-hunting couple looked at three MANSIONS. These were utterly huge homes, with soaring ceilings, skylights, hardwood floors, and enough granite to drown the entire Soprano family.

I think the most expensive home was $250,000 dollars. That home used to belong to Siegfried and Roy.

Perhaps I exaggerate.

However, it was still a lot of house, and it had a built-in grill and wet bar in the backyard. Meanwhile, a nice townhouse runs almost $300,000 around here.

I sat in my cottage, a place I had considered charming and green and perfect for us just fifteen minutes ago, overcome with house lust. I would love a claw-foot bathtub! I need a six-burner Viking range! And, yes, if you insist, I'll take the steam shower!

HGTV, your house hunters made me want to hit my head with a cinder block. Looking at a living room the size of my downstairs, the female house hunter whined, "It's a nice house, but I don't like the color." Because, yes, once you paint a wall, it cannot ever, EVER(!) be changed.

The husband on this episode continually said the same three things: "This would be a great place to put my big screen TV."; "This might be the perfect room for my man cave,"; and "It needs to have a garage big enough for all of my toys."

When did man caves, big screen TVs, and abundant room for toys become necessities?  And why must the men ALWAYS say these things on every episode?

I've decided, HGTV, to make a  House Hunters Drinking Game. 

You must drink every time one of the following phrases is uttered: 

1) This would be a great room for entertaining. 
2) I don't like the color/floor/cabinets
3) This is too small (Note: they never, ever, say that any room is too big).
4) I love the open floor plan. 
5) This would be a great place for my big-screen TV
5) Finally, I have a place for all my toys. 
6) This would be a great place to drink coffee in the mornings. 
7) This is a great walk-in closet. I don't know where my husband will put his clothes, though. (Heh, heh. Sigh.)
8) I love the stainless steel. 
9) I love the granite counter-tops. 
10) This will need to  be updated. 


Every time they describe something as "nice," you must drink. Also, if they have a pet and they mention how the house will be perfect for little Scruffy or Lambchop, you must drink. 


When it comes time to reveal, if you correctly selected the chosen house, you must chug. 


After completing this game, you will no longer care about the conditions of your own house, and will be content to live in your own drunken filth. 

HGTV, I believe that this game is brilliant and could increase your ratings. Please let me know if you will accept this fantastic idea. You may pay me with throw pillows, recessed lighting, and, naturally, stainless steel appliances.

Yours most sincerely,

Nancy


(Thanks, adrienzgirl, for the opportunity to let off steam in my slate shower.) 

Clean Green or Be Damned (My Gift to You)

For those who have interest...

Clean Green Recipes

You will notice that many of the ingredients for the following products are the same.  These products were what people used to clean and disinfect before the industrial revolution.  Your own Grandmother may have used some of these methods in her own home.  These products are easy to make and use.  They are very inexpensive, and harmless to children and pets.

Anti-Bacterial Spray- Add 20 drops of lavender or tea tree oil per every 2 cups water in a spray bottle.  Spray areas and allow it to sit for a few minutes before wiping up.

Sink Scrub- Make a paste out of Baking Soda, a squirt of liquid soap, and a couple of drops of lavender or tea tree oil. Scrub and rinse.

Un-clogging a Sink- Pour 1 cup of Baking Soda down the drain, and then follow it with 3 cups of boiling water.

Rust Away for Tin or Aluminum- Use ½ of a potato dipped into salt, and scrub.

Copper and Brass Polish- Ketchup.  Allow it to sit on the metal for a few minutes, and then rub with a soft cloth.

Silver Polish-white tooth paste

Oven Cleaner- Make a paste out of equal parts Baking Soda and liquid soap, and a little hot water.  Scrub

Oven Clean-up for Fresh Stains- For liquid spills use salt.  For greasy spills use baking soda. 

Window Cleaner-Combine 3 TBSP. Vinagar to 2 cups Water in a spray bottle. Spray and wipe clean with news paper.

Furniture Polish-Combine 3parts Olive oil to 1 part Vinegar in a jar.  Shake well before using.  Massage into furniture using a soft cloth.

Carpet Stain Spray-Combine 1 cup Vinegar, 1 cup Water, and ½ cup Baking Soda in a spray bottle.  Spray /Dry/Vacuum

Fresh Carpet Stains- Cover the stain with a heavy coating of salt.  Allow it to absorb the stain and dry.  Vacuum up.

Carpet Freshener- Sprinkle the carpet liberally with Baking Soda, then add a couple of drops of essential oil of choice.  Allow it to sit for an hour or so, and then vacuum.

Mold and Mildew Cleaner-Add 2 tsp.  Tea tree oil to 2 cups water.  Can be used in a spray bottle or in a bucket.

Whitening Method for Laundry-Soak white overnight in a bath made of 1:10 parts white vinegar: water, rinse in clear water and then wash in machine.

Laundry Soap-Combine 2 cups of grated soap (Octagon) to 1 qt. of boiling water and stir until the soap is dissolve completely.  Pour into a large bucket and then add 2 cups of Baking Soda and 2 cups of Borax.  Stir well then add 2 gal. Of clean water.  Stir, and then add to containers. Shake before using.  Add ¼ c. to each small load of laundry.  ½ c. per larger loads.

Fabric Softener- Add ¼ c. White Vinegar and 3 drops of Lavender oil to the final rinse.

Cleaning House

A few weeks ago, I went to a class about do-it-yourself cleaning supplies. This, apparently, is what stay-at-home mothers do when we aren't wiping asses, eating bon-bons, or drinking our way through play dates.

This has been something I've been interested in for awhile. I like a clean house. I find it satisfying to remove streaks and clean sinks. I believe that I can have gleaming countertops and win my Nobel Peace Prize, thank you very much.

This being said, I find it a bit alarming that so many of my cleaning products, could, you know, poison my children. I remember Paul wrestling a bottle of Windex out of my pregnant hands. "God, the baby shouldn't be inhaling this stuff!" he cried.

I grumpily walked away from my filthy windowpanes all the while thinking to myself, "If it's bad for Fetus Joel, how come it's okay for us?"

What really creeps me out, though, is the oven cleaner. The directions recommend treating the vile substance like toxic waste. Don't let it touch your hands, don't breathe the stuff in...but, by all means, use it to clean your cooking appliances. You know, the ones used to cook food. That you then consume.

Riiiiiiiiiight.

So, I went to this natural cleaning class, and realized that it's possible to clean your house without spending a boatload of money or using a magical combination of bong water, butt sweat, and the essence of the Great Spirit.

It was so counter-revolutionary and mundane---use the stuff that Grandma used to use. Baking powder. Borax. Soap. Vinegar. Ketchup. The only thing I didn't already have was a ten dollar bottle of Tea Tree Oil.

Seriously.

I still have some 409 under the counter (for emergencies), but I find that these natural cleaning supplies do the job, save money, and smell good--especially if you like North Carolina BBQ.

And, as a bonus, I don't worry about my children growing tails or forked tongues. That's a win-win.

Now, I cannot believe that I wrote about organic food yesterday and natural cleaning supplies today. Stay with me, readers. I promise to be less preachy tomorrow. Perhaps a good-ol' fashioned story about constipation will be in your future.

In the meantime, I thank you for your indulgence.

PS---If you're interested in any of these recipes, drop me a line.

Hair and Mayhem

I wanted a change. I wanted DRAH-MA! I wanted EXCITEMENT!

So I scheduled the appointment to get mah hair did.

I was thinking bright red, except that it couldn't be too red, because I don't have one of those pale-beautiful Irish complexions.

I was thinking perhaps strawberry blond. Joel used to be a ginger kid, after all.

I even briefly toyed with burgundy or Southern MD-fabulous skunk stripes.

In the end, I went with the advice of my friend, Joanne: "Just tell the colorist that you trust her, and let her do what she thinks looks good."

And so, without further ado...BEHOLD!

This is before:



And this is after:



Can't tell the difference? It's okay. Paul really couldn't either. Since, in the end, I'm both cautious and lazy, we did caramel highlights and darker lowlights.

In other words, I basically kept my same hair, but paid a little over $100 dollars to have her flat-iron it really nicely.

Here's a back angle. Squint and you'll see highlights:



And once more with ATTITUDE!:



In other news, a monster has spread poop all over my stairwell:



Moving on...

Question: What is best in life?

Answer: To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of their women.



It's on now, ants.

Finally, who doesn't love a baby eating ravioli?



I wish this was a one time thing, but Joel looks like this after most meals. It's hard to believe we have an ant problem...

Back to real posting tomorrow. Happy Labor Day!

Houseness

The first mistake was picking up the book.

The second, naturally, was reading it.

The book in question? Not-So-Big-Remodeling: Tailoring Your Home for the Way You Really Live.

My brain still hurts.

The book claims, "with small, thoughtful changes, the home you live in can be the home you love." The cover shows a light-filled kitchen with a vase of sunflowers and a large wooden bowl of Granny Smith apples. Looking at this picture lowers my blood pressure.

Then, I look up at my own kitchen. There's the crock pot on the floor, overflowing with plastic food, stuffed animals, blocks, and dryer sheets. The refrigerator is an explosion of magnets and reminders: "Pay tuition!" "Call back Laura!" Next to the reminders, there is a prescription for Owen's fluoride tablets---the third prescription we've taken home from his dentist, and never filled. There are two laundry baskets next to the crock pot, filled with balls and blankets. I've attempted to move these baskets three times, and each time Owen has reacted most vehemently with screaming and hissy-fits of Project Runway proportion.

It's so overwhelming, I don't even know how to start. Some of the "easy" suggestions include lowering ceilings, knocking out walls, or adding windows. I suppose these are "easy" ideas if you're blessed with spatial sense, but for me, doing any of these things is as absurd as doing my own orthodontia.

When I live in a vacuum, I'm okay with my house. There are too many toys and some of the furniture has seen better days, but nothing makes my eyes bleed. However, when I open books like this, or visit the homes of my friends with an eye for design, a tiny worm of envy begins digging in my gut.

I don't want a huge house, or Viking appliances, or an acre lot. Most of the time, I consider it as a point of pride that we do not live in a McMansion.

Yet, when I see how gracefully and beautifully people (yes, even people with small children) choose to live, I feel like I'm depriving myself and my family of a restful and inspiring home.

So, I do what I can. I re-arrange the toys. I clear away the clutter. And yes, I look through the shelter magazines or watch HGTV. After all, I gotta at least try.

***
Happy day! My niece, Kiri Jane Campbell was born yesterday. She's Six pounds, six ounces. Mother and baby are doing well, and everybody will go home tomorrow. This is huge.

I must say that 8/30/09, is neither even nor odd. I was hoping for 9/9/09. Sigh.

Judy Mohrman is an Undercover Domestic Diva

Whenever I read a historical novel or talk to my grandmother, I thank my lucky stars that I was born in the Seventies. Not only did I grow up with orange shag carpet and avocado counter tops, I also dodged a serious bullet: genuine housewife drudgery.

My grandmother would tell me tales of heating the iron, starching the collars, and boiling the water on laundry day---a hot, sweaty ordeal that took a good eight hours. Instead of Tide-to-Go, my grandmother and her contemporaries used lye soap. It often caused blisters and raw, chapped hands. This was not that long ago, people.

My grandmother darned socks, polished kettles, cooked meals, washed windows, and scrubbed everything---as she was expected. She did all this without special cleansers or the miracle of the Magic Eraser. Just elbow grease and persistence.

Fast forward to 1975. I was born to a mother who had read Betty Frieden and dressed me in gender-neutral overalls. She stayed at home, and kept a tidy home, but I don't recall her being a clean freak. My brother and I had chores---cleaning our rooms, Windexing the sliding glass door, sweeping, unloading the dishwasher--and while annoying, it was not backbreaking. I certainly don't remember Mom sitting me down and teaching me the secrets of good housekeeping. The message I learned was: Clean your house so you don't live in filth. End of story.

I didn't learn until I had my own home that my mother was a covert expert in all thing domestic. I would call her up, complaining about a stubborn stain and she would spout off some magical concoction involving vinegar and baking soda. She was full of 'em. Before I had my own home, I didn't know that refrigerators and ovens needed to be cleaned. I learned that baseboards gathered dust over time. Ceiling fans did not clean themselves.

How did I miss all this crucial information?

True story: after Owen was born, Mom came out to help me. Since newborns sleep a lot, Mom did all sorts of cleaning jobs to occupy herself. She made some vile brew in her Cauldron of Cleanliness one afternoon, and started working on a black spot on the stove top.

"Don't bother," I said, "that's not a spot, just an big paint chip. I've tried already to clean it off."

You can see where this is going. By the time Mom and her goo were finished, my stove top was once again gleaming and new.

I don't know if I lack my mother's knowledge because she was aspiring to free me from the domestic drudgery of her generation, or if I was just a typical teenager that did the minimal requirements and assumed her mother was clueless.

If I was a betting woman, I would double down on option #2.

At the library, I saw a beautiful book by Martha Stewart which was all about cleaning. In one page after another of household porn, Martha demonstrated how I could have pressed, lavender-scented sheets or an oven cleaner than a typical operating room. I almost checked the book out, then stopped myself.

Why would I listen to Martha (a convicted criminal, for Pete's sake), instead of calling dear old Mom?

Besides, Mom looks much better in a poncho.