either we are becoming better friends,

or I am becoming a worse housekeeper

because everytime you come to visit
my house is at a lower standard of "clean"

I'm glad you're coming.
Please don't wear your glasses.

Nobody Pee

• My office floor is empty
• My desk is cleared off
• The car is cleaned out
• The lawn is mowed
• The bottom of the stairwell is painted
• The bathrooms are all clean
• The garbages are emptied
• The pool is winterized
• The dining room is tidy
• The TV room is tidy
• The Primary invitations are made
• I take bread to Sister Doerksen
• I call the people I visit teach
• The windows are all clean
• All of the miscellaneous baskets in my house are emptied

I'm getting happier and happier. 

Just, please, no one use the bathrooms
until the rest of my list is finished.

I'll Be Happy When...

• My office floor is empty

• My desk is cleared off

• The car is cleaned out

• The lawn is mowed

• The bottom of the stairwell is painted

• The bathrooms are all clean

• The garbages are emptied

• The pool is winterized

• The dining room is tidy

• The TV room is tidy

• The Primary invitations are made

• I take bread to Sister Doerksen

• I call the people I visit teach

• The windows are all clean

• All of the miscellaneous baskets in my house are emptied


I know I'll be happy then.  I just know it.

My Favorite Household Chore Is...

Vacuuming up spiders.



I got a 4-inch one today.

It's like Murder She Wrote.

Except I'm the criminal; not the Angela Lansbury.

It's very satisfying. In a creepy sort of way.

"Why Are You Throwing Away My Picture?"

This is my least favourite question in the whole world.

And the silver medal for least favourite question goes to...

"Where's My ________[e.g. brown puppy with the white spot that I won at the fair two years ago and have never ever mentioned or played with and looks like all of the other stuffed puppies in this house]?"

I always answer with a vague, "Hhmmm, I don't know where it could be or how it got in the garbage." But I believe there will be a day of reckoning where I will have to own that they all went to Salvation Army and the trash as soon as I could possibly sneak them out of the house.

I think that will be a bad day for me.

Won't Anything Work?!?

I am so sick of all the crap everywhere I could scream!!

Wait a minute. I did scream.

I do scream!

It doesn't make a difference.

I dumped out 3/4 of it while they were away this summer. They didn't even notice.

And then the junk mated with other junk. Or spawned. Or multiplied through mitosis. Or cloned itself.

But somehow, in a matter of months we're back to the same old place.

Stuff everywhere. Five puzzle pieces here, three baby toys there. Two winter mitts that didn't make it into the winter gear storage box. One Christmas ornament, four dolls, one deck of cards, two light sabers, 17 odd socks, the favourite pillowcase, 9 hair baubles, a comb, seven sweatshirts.

And a partridge in a pear tree.

Have I mentioned that I could scream!?!

The Crap makes me so mad. (Pardon my French). Unreasonably mad.

There's a little me sitting on my shoulder telling me that my reaction is illogically out of proportion.

But the little red me with horns is coaxing me to throw it ALL away. All of it.

No more puzzles, pony tails, ponchos, or pear scented lotion. They can all just sit on the couch and look out the window and count the birds that fly by.

NAKED!! (The people, not the birds. Well, both actually, I guess.)

So tonight I started PLAN #42--The Junk Trunk!!

See, this one is going to work because it has a catchy name.

The idea is simple. I dump everything that is not put away into the Junk Trunk (See it rhymes. It's reeling you in too, isn't it?) They can dig through it if they need something. When the Trunk is full, I dump all of it in the garbage. (Sorry, landfills. Sorry, posterity. It's either fill the landfill or the asylum and my research shows that landfills require less taxpayer support.)

How Could It Possibly Be 11 O'Clock Already?

Kindergarten pick-up time.

All I did was nurse and clean two bathrooms.

Stinky. (The bathrooms and the pick-up time.)

Oh, and I wrote this little blog.

Do You Ever Put Everything On Your Bed...

...so that you'll for sure put it away before you go to sleep and then you get to the end of the night and feel so utterly exhausted that it all goes right back onto the floor?

I do too.

"Can I Use This Sour Cream Container for Painting?"

"No, I have to save that one for putting the placenta in."

What Are You Doing In Your Backyard?

Dallin answers with something about improving the drainage. (There wasn't really a problem except for the soggy sandbox.)

I've been saying it will make the yard bigger, but it turns out that we'll only add about 10 feet.

I think it may really be about Boys and Big Toys.

How Much of This Junk Can I Get Rid of Before My Kids Come Back?

7 garbage bags full. Yeah for me!

Should I Feel Guilty for being Thrilled...

...that there is No One in my House for the Next Two Days?

How about guilty over the fact that I'm going to leave the dirty dishes, laundry, bills, bathrooms, vacuuming, and Church work for some other time?

I do feel guilty, but it seems insufficient to dictate a change in course.

I'm off to read a book.

Why Does Every New Plan Eventually Die?

And why does "eventually" come so soon?



Another Chore Chart bites the dust.

We're on to piggy banks, tokens, and Mom's Store which is working brilliantly for two whole weeks now. (The greatest feature is the 1 token for every time they respond with, "I'd be happy to, Mom." Chas has mastered this better than anyone, and he ends up with a truckload of tokens at the end of each week.)

How Many Stitches Does It Take To Get A Day Off?

Apparently more than six.

And in a more necessary appendage than my pinky finger.

Why Do So Many Things Have To Be Done EVERY Day To Be Effective?

Flossing
Studying Scriptures
Praying
Exercising
Practicing the Piano
Watering the Garden
Putting Lotion on my Dry Heels
Cleaning the Kitchen

I'm the kind of person who would like to pay my car insurance all at once even if it's huge. Would like to wait until the weeds are waist high so that it feels rewarding to get rid of them. And tends to gravitate toward other once-in-a-while sporadic projects.

I'm not so good with this daily endurance stuff. President Uchtdorf: "We don’t acquire eternal life in a sprint—this is a race of endurance." Apparently we don't acquire clean houses, healthy teeth or piano skills in sprints either.

What's My Favorite Sound?

Several months ago I read that Sister Hinckley said that her favorite sound was the sound of the screen door slamming. She said it was summer and children playing and family.

I thought that was so beautiful and I had an immediate wash of guilt because I am sure that I would not love the sound of a screen door slamming if I had a screen door to slam. The same way I don't love sand in my house and melted freezies stuck to the couch.

So, I've been thinking ever since about what my favorite sound is and what it says about me. For months the top ranking sound has been the kutookitookishoo of junk being sucked up into the vacuum. Especially the guilty liberating KACHANKITANKICHOO of sucking something up that I didn't want anymore anyway, like playmobile pieces, toy money, and hair elastics. What does this say about me?

Finally, though, I've realized that my actual favorite sound, although the vacuum is running a close race, is my children laughing. Especially with each other. That's the greatest sound in the world.

And by the way, one of my favorite sights in the world are "summer legs," complete with their black and blue patches, skin-missing knees and mosquito bite scabs torn off. I'll post a better picture if I can capture one in the coming months.

How Many Days Will I Walk Past These Empty Frames...

...Waiting For Me To Put Family Pictures In Them?

It's been 59 already.

Am I The Only Person On The Planet Who Can Not Multi-Task?

A friend asked me many months ago what I think about while I'm cleaning house and doing other "brainless" tasks. So, I took note next time I was folding laundry: "Hmm.. there's a stain. Fold arms in. Fold front down. Check tag. Size 7. Probably Eliza's. Put in pile. Now towel. Fold. Fold. Fold. Fold. Now Underwear. Why do I fold these at all? Now socks..." I took note next time I was mopping the floor: "Scrub. Scrub. Forward. Back. More water. Scrub. Scrub. Wring. Wring." and it was the same for washing dishes, cleaning toilets, and weeding the garden.

Apparently this friend, and many others I have checked with think about real things as they fold or mop or wash or weed. They decide what they'll teach at family home evening. They remember our conversation and think of wise advice to pass onto me next time we speak. They wonder about their children's relationships. They ponder over doctrine!

I don't get it at all. I think "fold, fold." "Scrub, scrub."

In a workshop I gave a couple of weeks ago I used a quote that said that the measure of a person's character is what they think about when they have nothing to think about. What does it mean that I think "scrub" and "fold"?

But, it all falls apart if I think about anything else. Even when I try to do more than one mindless job at the same general time as another mundane task. Today for example. I decided to make bread, pizza dough, and cinnamon buns in succession since I would have all of the ingredients out. Meanwhile changing laundry every now and then and interacting with my children a tiny bit. Here was the result:

I washed three over-stuffed loads of laundry (and dried them) with the water level setting to "very small" load. (The clothes don't smell so great, but I think I'm going to fold them anyway.)

I forgot that I was kneading bread in the electric mixer and left to get my sick kids set up watching a movie. Which turned out to involve finding and watching three previews online to help them decide which one to watch, getting Dallin to fix the DVD player, and overseeing a negotiation between "Barbie Rapunzel" and "Bats and Balls." When I came back to the mixer (about 20 minutes later), some of the bread dough had overflowed onto the counter and the floor, some had entwined itself into the spring-motor thing above the dough hook attachment and was spreading black motor grease stuff throughout the bread, the motor was making strange noises, and the casing was about 300 degrees Fahrenheit. I picked out the black parts. Now the bread is rising.

I put an empty pitcher into the little sink in our island to fill with water, left for some reason or another, began vacuuming, and returned to flood across the island, waterfalls in the cupboards, and lake across the floor. (This is the third time I've had this exact fiasco.)

And I forgot to take Chas to the highlight of his week-hockey class.

Why do I do these things? Inability to multi-task, I've decided.

Another friend says, "Multitasking is the bad word of the 90s." I think I agree with her. A little bit like I cherish the sign on my mother's fridge: "Dull women have immaculate homes." Not because I actually think that, but because it comforts me in my ineptitude.

Why Are We Starting Another Project?

Because one begets four.

Here are the projects on the go at the moment:

• Laying stones for a path to the pool.
• Erecting a slide for the hill.
• Finishing the basement into a playroom for the kids.
• Building bookshelves in the "library."
• Moving the garden boxes.
• Tearing down the hill behind our house.
• Flooring the storage room.
• Hooking up solar panels for the pool.
• Laying sod on the place where the garden boxes used to be.
• Turning a cement pad into a strawberry patch.
• Creating a playhouse in the shelf basement.
• Moving the compost bin.

I'm certain they all started with one isolated, simple project. I'm just not sure which project is to blame for the fallout.

Perhaps we should consider finishing one before we move on to another one?

Do I Have To Clean This?

No wonder my kids say it. Do I have to?