Archive for the ‘Household Chores’ Category

Holy Mother of Chocolate

Filed under: Family,Health...or Lack Thereof,Household Chores — Amy @ 2:04 pm

We did a massive deep cleaning a week ago because Jens’ mom is visiting for an extended weekend. And I truly mean that our house has never been so clean. Not that you can tell, because we have one of those houses that looks the same after you clean it as it did before and can amass a thick layer of dust on the table top the day after you dusted the entire house and cleaned the vents. And the day she got here, I was already spot-vaccing little dust bunnies that were floating around the kitchen floor. Spot-vaccing, mind you, the DAY AFTER I HAD DUSTED AND CLEANED THAT FLOOR LIKE IT HAD NEVER BEEN CLEANED BEFORE. There is an injustice there, I tell you.

Anyway, the reason for such cleansing – albeit relatively pointless – was not just for the sake of being gracious hosts…trust me, we’re not that good at being hosts. The main reason was simply that the MIL is acutely allergic to dust. And pet dander (did I mention that we have 2 cats and a dog and IT’S SHEDDING SEASON???). And perfumes or scents of most any kind. And shellfish. And car fumes (for which she has a handicapped parking permit that we get to use while she’s here – SU-WEET). Oh, and she’s hypoglycemic, has a malfunctioning thyroid, battles motion sickness and mercury poisoning and has currently been placed on an “all protein, and non-starchy veggies” diet by her doctor. And has to take upward of 30 pills daily, along with liquid supplements that have an aroma resembling turpentine.

The point of the above paragraph was not just to make you wonder why the good woman is still alive (and make you think twice about complaining about those crooked teeth or contacts). The real point was to point out the irony that this weekend, it was my mom, rather than my MIL, who had some sort of a blood sugar episode at dinner on Mother’s Day. Kind of like watching a marionette when somebody drops the strings.

Anyway, our non-professional diagnosis is either hypoglycemia or diabetes, and if those are indeed the choices, I think we’re all hoping for the hypoglycemia for one reason: CHOCOLATE.

A little history here. My mom, for most of my growing up years, had an allergy to chocolate that resulted in a life-threatening migrane upon consumption. If you’ve never heard of a life-threatening migrane, here’s how it works: Mom succumbs to the temptation and eats a total of 2 M&Ms. Subsequently, she gets laid up in bed with a migrane and any child caught playing too loudly has his or her life severely threatened. Further infractions on the 2-decibel noise limit will result in penalty of death, several times over.

Sometime between my last years of highschool and going away to college, Mom was suddenly cured of her disabling allergy. Thus, chocolate was reinstated in it’s previous most-favored-food status and continues today to be found in little stashes around the house.

Enter pre-dinner blood-sugar-attack yesterday. I have a feeling that if diabetes is in the diagnosis pot, the doctor will undoubtedly mention something to the effect of sugar limitations…i.e. CHOCOLATE LIMITATIONS.

And suddenly we will be dealing not only with the original illness, but a gross onslaught of severe depression because seriously, what woman could have chocolate taken away from her TWICE in one lifetime???

PS: Reading through the house entry I just linked to made me smirk. I’d forgotten about the statement on the timing of having children. Ha. Life is a big fat joker sometimes.

Martha Stewart, I am not

“I hate housework. You make the beds, you wash the dishes and six months later you have to start all over again.”

-Joan Rivers

I might be having company tonight, so I cleaned the house. Hear that everybody? I CLEANED THE HOUSE. I vacuumed, emptied the dishwasher, filled the dishwasher, dusted the mantle and tables (even the little ones in the bedroom), cleared the countertops (no small feat in our house), cleaned the countertops, watched the dog track dirty paws all over the freshly vacuumed carpet, and mopped the kitchen floor…well, at least the part you walk on.

It’s really not the cleaning part of housework I hate so much. It’s not really the fact that it takes forever to accomplish such temporary results. It’s not even the fact that dirty bathrooms are icky and I can’t stand to clean them (I solve that by putting Jens in charge of bathroom cleaning).

It’s the fact that when I’m finished, YOU CAN’T TELL I EVER DID ANYTHING.

We live in an ugly house. There’s no getting around that. The walls are dark (except for the squares of swooshing pastel textured paper) and the carpet is dirty (and it’s that burber stuff so you can’t tell where you’ve vacuumed), and there simply isn’t enough light in the house to escape notions of living in a cave. So when I’m done cleaning and I wipe my hands and look around…I can’t tell the difference between when I started and when I’ve finished.

So why, you might ask, do I ever bother cleaning in the first place? The answer is quite simple, and it’s the same reason I never cheated on tests and have dreams about assignments that aren’t completed on time.

Guilt. I don’t have enough to make me keep a clean house, but do have just enough to occasionally embark on a cleaning fit. (And yes, I am holding an experiment to see how many times I can use the word “clean” in a single post. Clean clean clean. So there.) I think it goes back to my theory about finding the meaning of life in balance. Some, yes, but not too much.

I dated a guy once who thought I would make a good Mormon wife. HA. He would have been sorely disappointed. I don’t even make a good Baptist wife half the time. I live in constant bafflement at how I managed to secure such a wonderfully patient and laid-back husband. Who is willing to wait until I’m ready to have kids (we’re pretending that he has a choice here).

So I have a (mostly) clean house now. There are still piles of laundry spewing out of the bathtub, which we use as a back-up laundry hamper because the drain doesn’t work…and because it’s one of the few places the dog doesn’t sneak in to steal dirty socks…and yes, because we’re dreadfully lazy people who hate to do laundry. Especially me.

So if you live in Dallas and get an invitation to come over for dinner, it’s because the house is clean and we feel obligated to take advantage of it. Accept that invitation, because you won’t get another one for 6 months.

PS: Please don’t tell me I’m shallow because I’m annoyed that we own the ugliest house in the neighborhood. You would be very wrong. I’m annoyed that we rent the ugliest house in the neighborhood. Geesh.

About Me

Hi. I'm Amy. I started this website in 2005 as a place to deposit my journal and photos. It has gone through a few incarnations and masquerades as a family site, but since I'm the only one who contributes to it, it's really all about ME, ME, ME.

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