febreeze

Whoops!  They kind of look the same, don't they?

It's a Sickness, Really

A few weeks back I received the following text from my sister/neighbor:    Be sure to lock your house up tight when you leave for work. Just heard that the house up the block was broken into yesterday.  And that bit of information was then followed a few hours later with reports of other break-ins in the neighborhood.

Now I'm sure that the astute reader would not be surprised to discover that that one little text has set off a chain of events in my head from which I am unlikely to recover anytime soon, my friends.

But not in the way you might think.

Of course the thoughts of a rational person would head in the direction of hiding jewelry. . . making sure windows were closed and locked. .   double-barring deck doors. . .you know. . . the usual security-kind-of-stuff.

But not me.

MY troubled and undun mind barrelled right to the very thing next to Godliness.

Can I ask you. . .  IS THERE ANOTHER STARK-STARING LUNATIC OUT THERE WHO MAKES SURE HER HOUSE IS SPIC-AND-SPAN WHEN SHE LEAVES JUST IN CASE IT IS BURGLARIZED WHILE SHE'S AWAY?

What's with THAT?

Why would I think a burglar would ever pass judgement on my housekeeping skills?  Would a common thief make a face upon entering a house where the dishwasher wasn't empty?  Shake his head at breakfast dishes in the sink?  Tisk-Tisk at toothpaste remnants in the bathroom?

And then there's the police who would invariably be called upon the discovery.  What would they think if the burglarized house was actually lived in?  If there were dust bunnies in the gaping hole where the 52-inch big-screen t.v. once stood?  If the crime scene contained indisputable proof that the victims owned a good-natured-but-overly-furry guard dog?

I'm not saying I'm ill.

I'm just saying I'm sick.

quite sick. . .

Here Lies Liz. At Least Her House Was Clean.

So I have arrived back home from my weekend in Massachusetts safe and sound.

And let me tell you that I shudder to think what would have happened if I hadn't. . .

For all weekend long, aside from the whole fear of death through the flailing of limbs and splattering of organs, lurked the obsessive - but very real - thought that my house wasn't clean enough when I left it. Doesn't everybody just dread having the misfortune to die when their house is not in order. . . and then, horror of horrors, what would the next-of-kin think?

Suppose for a minute both Drip Dry and I were to die in a tragic multi-car pile-up the likes of which have never before been seen on the East Coast.  In that instance family and friends of unknown origin would be entering my house, rifling through the remnants of my earthly life, holding garage sales, trying on my jewelry, and claiming this very netbook as their own.  Do I want them encountering dust bunnies in the process?  No!  I want them to walk into my house and proclaim, This woman must have had her s**ff together, for I have never seen such a clean house in all my life!  For let us not forget, my friends, that the very same next of kin are the ones who would logically be called upon to write the obituary and deliver the eulogy at my funeral.

But for some reason Drip Dry just doesn't get it.

No, my husband subscribes to the theory that leaving the house for the weekend is a simple two-step process.  1) You pack.  2) You leave.

How could anyone in their right mind live by the two-step process?  What about the myriad of steps in between?

Why would you skip the step where you clean the dribbled toothpaste remnants out of every bathroom sink lest your grieving family mistakenly think it was an experiment and your obit would read, before their untimely demise the deceased and her husband had plans to enter the candy-manufacturing business?

What about  the step where you clean out the refrigerator before a one-night journey?  Would you want it known in your eulogy that you had been harboring a jar of capers longer than you have owned your youngest daughter? 

And the clothes hangers?  Why would a sane person leave hangers on the bed in the wake of packing?  Do you want an insurance investigator thinking you somehow lacked the physical prowess to hang hangers back up after placing an item in your suitcase?  What does that say for your driving skills?

And how about the bill paying?  Do you want the as-yet-unnamed executor of your estate knowing what you paid Macy's for the dress you wore to the fatal wedding? The very same dress, in all likelihood, they would decide to bury you in?  Do you want all the guests at the wake to know that the to-die-for-dress in that coffin was on sale for a mere $79???

What about the clean-up-of-every-last-bit-of-dog-hair-lest-the-next-of-kin-find-out-that-the-deceased-loved-ones-owned-a-dog?  Does that step mean nothing anymore? (Oh sure, I'm fully aware of the fact that 99% of the time we leave the dog home under the watchful eye of our niece next-door, and that the dog runs around generating more furballs with each passing minute, but suppose the tragic accident were to happen within a half-hour of leaving the house.  What then, smartypants?)

So I guess it all comes down to this:  Who wants to look down on the remains of their earthly life from within their new heavenly home and see all their good work spoiled by a few dust bunnies?

I don't.

And I'm close to being positive that they don't even allow dust bunnies in heaven anyway. .  .

Of course I'm the one who once smugly left her beach house thinking to herself. .  .There!  If a burglar breaks in and ransacks the house, at least he'll note that it was perfect when he started. .  .

The Insanity on My Sleeve

So Trigger is back home for the weekend.

I know what you're thinking. . . Didn't that child leave for college just two short weeks ago???

Yes indeed my friends, it has been two short, but-oh-so-glorious, weeks. . .

Yet somehow, in her naivete, Trigger didn't realize that I was still reveling in the new-found cleanliness of her bedroom like a pig rolls in mud and so, consequently, had not quite grasped the fact that she might not be the most welcome of visitors.  (Proof positive that I don't always wear my insanity on my sleeve people. . .)

And so, as she emerged from the car, I suggested that although Trigger herself was welcome to enter the house, her ginormous suitcase containing the vast array of clothing which was all-but-guaranteed to be spewed about her room within a matter of minutes, might be best left in the car.

Then Drip Dry quickly spit on my sleeve, pulled Trigger's suitcase from the trunk, and used a handtruck to lug  it upstairs to her bedroom.

At which point I kissed Trigger hello.

And told her how glad I was to see her.

And quietly pulled her bedroom door closed.

Then climbed the stairs to Ponzi's room to roll in the cleanliness that still dwelled within.

I'm Not That Classy. . . and also a post where I make use of a whole lot of hyphenated phrases

This very morning I opened my linen closet and chanted a prayer of thanksgiving.

For there, hapazardly stacked inside, were 21 bath towels - brand spanking clean and available for use.

Thank you, God.



And because the let-me-just-state-for-the-record-that-I'm-not-a-rich-bitch-and-what-do-you-expect-for-this-is-Jersey-where-it-seems-that-everyone-and-their-mother-employs-the-help-of-a-domestic-sanitary-engineer-of-which-I-just-happen-to-employ-a-feng-shui-leaning-version-every-other-feng-shuing-week cleaning lady happened to pay a visit to my house today, I had the good sense to revel in my great fortune when I returned home late from work to a clean, peaceful, and hair-and-fur-free environment.

But the tranquility will not last, my friends.

For tomorrow I enter Trigger World for the first time.

Yes, dear readers, I will be traveling to a distant state to see what I imagine to be her chaos-induced-cyclone-of-a-dorm room for the first time.

Oh, and her bathroom.  I will be taking the virgin voyage into what I further imagine to be her hair-and-tap-tap-make-up-induced-swill-of-a-bathing-parlor for the first time too.

And I just may find out exactly how she has survived for the past two-and-and-half-months with just two bath towels when she used to insist on two freshly-laundered towels a day. .  .

Funny. . .

I once read a story about Jacqueline Kennedy Onnasis visiting her famous son while he was a student at Brown and wading through the mounds of clothing strewn about the floor in order to make his bed.

I may have an every-other-week-cleaning-lady and possession of a wicker-table-that-once-belonged-to-her, but since we're on the record here, let me state, my friends:   I'm just not the Jackie O' kind of classy.

And, yes, even my mother - much to her great dismay - employs a cleaning service every other week.

It's the law.

This is Jersey.

WTFS? (What the Feng Shui?)

As you all know by now, I have a new blogging room.

Yes, it was supposed to be a meditation/prayer/writing/reading/study. . . but it has turned into nothing more than a feel-good blogging room.

Feel-good.

That's the operative word my friends.  Feel.  Good.  I instinctively feel good in the room.

And so I ask you. . .

Is there a reason the cleaning lady had to move my elephant in the room. . . or my bamboo plant. . .or my f'orchid (fake orchid)?  And what about my f'wicker chair?  Did it not belong with my antique desk?  Why did it have to go all f'cocked on a angle like that?  And let's not even talk about the throw rug . . .  It was purposely thrown there to cover Ponzi's old makeup stains and the burn marks her friends made when they forgot to turn off the Chi hair straightener.

Is someone thinking she can bring a whole new Ch'i into my room?

If she starts messing with my Holy Oils or my authentic JFK table (both lovingly lifted, my friends) I just may have to start the Kung Foo Fighting. . .

No Wash-y the Towel-y or Drip Dry Will Growl-y

I always knew that raising our teenage daughters was tough on me.

But I never realized that it was driving my husband certifiably insane.

Isn't it always the way? You're so focused on your own troubles that you don't notice those around you crying out for help?

Just yesterday I walked into the laundry room to do some wash and Drip Dry came in all screaming-like. . . Whatever you do, don't wash those two towels!

Why can't I wash them? I asked innocently.

Because they're big and fluffy! he answered.

What's wrong with big and fluffy??? I inquired.

Nothing's wrong with big and fluffy, but you know our daughters. . .  they use a towel once before discarding it for a freshly laundered one.  They should be using the old threadbare ones until they learn to use a towel more than once!

But they can't stay here! I answered. They'll grow old and smelly.

Well, wash them if you must, he said, but then I'm hiding them!


And so it was that those towels went into hiding. . . along with the blueberries they ate too fast. . . and the chocolate he thought they consumed too much of. . . and the pine nuts that were way too expensive. . . and the Tassimo coffee pods they drank with abandon. . . and the tweezers they didn't appreciate. . .and the razor they stole that was his. . . and the mirror they got their grimy little fingerprints all over. . . and the soda cans they never finish. . . and the iHome they didn't treat correctly . . . and the. . .

Well, you get the picture. . .

Bathroom Etiquette - Part three

A Mom on Spin's Bathroom Etiquette as it pertains to a small sink and a little vanity in a tiny bathroom shared by three teenage daughters

1. The bathroom counter is no place to leave your black sticky boobs - even if they are nested together.
2. Nobody likes toothpaste candy, so it is suggested that you remove the globs of toothpaste from the sink before the next occupant wants to brush her teeth.
3. If you're looking for an item you lost circa 1996, check the drawers of the tiny bathroom vanity, for they haven't been cleaned since somewhere around that time.
4. You know that basket I put there to hold all your crap? Well, it doesn't have a false bottom, so sooner or later it starts to overflow.
5. Because your bathroom also doubles as (God help me) the guest bathroom, at least one hand towel must be reserved for guests' use. Whatever acne removing gel you get on the other towels should not be used in the vicinity of the latest appointed guest towel.
6. You will recognize the "appointed" guest towel because it is the only towel that is neatly folded and does not have a weird-splotchy-absence-of-color-disease like the other 500 towels in our house.
7. Just because the cabinet above the sink has tri-fold mirrored doors, does not make you a movie star. Viewing your freshly straightened hair from multi-angled mirrors is great, but you have no peeps to close the cabinet doors for you when you are finished.
8. The little wingy-things of the bandaids should reside in the trash receptacle after the bandaid is secured on whatever body part you have cut shaving.
9. The hair straightener and bathroom sink make strange bedfellows. Perhaps you should heed the tag on the cord of the straightener which reads, Danger! Do not use or store near water! (I hope - in your hurry to wash and dry your hair quickly - you also remember to heed the warning on the hair dryer which reads, Do not use while bathing!)
10. Remember, when you take the last tampon from the box stored under the sink, throw it away!!!! (Not the tampon, you idiot, the empty box!!!!!)

Oh, and I have a p.s. to yesterday's post. . .

I don't care if you place it in a ziplock bag first. . .

Under no circumstances should you take your cell phone into the shower with you!!!!

Bathroom Etiquette - Part two

A Mom on Spin's Bathroom Etiquette as it pertains to all things bathing

1. 
   
   The bathmat rug belongs outside of the shower, not rolled up in a sopping wet ball inside of it.
2. Once the shampoo, conditioner, body wash, acne scrub, face wash, exfoliator - or any one of the myriad of bottles of stuff you're using - is empty, reach around the corner of the shower curtain and place it in the bathroom trash receptacle.
3. 
   
   Simply throwing said container somewhere in the vicinity of the trash receptacle is not acceptable.
4. 
   
   Abstract hair art on the shower wall will never win prizes for creativity. Get rid of it!!!!
5. 
   
   If you decide on New Year's Eve to shave your legs (even if your haven't shaved them since like Halloween) you are responsible to clean up the product of your efforts.
6. 
   
   If - while showering - you find you are standing in ankle-deep water, simply reach down and pull the accumulation of your own hair from the top of the drain.
7. Once you have done so, do not leave the giant hairball in the corner of the tub, causing your mother's fear of small rodents to be activated upon entering your bathroom.
8. If - while showering - you somehow cannot control the urge to spit-up the contents of your breakfast, you are responsible for cleaning up breakfast (again.).
9. If - while showering - you do not control the urge to spit-up (even if it was - as you insist - just a throw-up-hiccup-burp) consider yourself forewarned that your mother will be watching you for signs of an eating disorder

There must be more. . . . Oh, how could I forget?????


Numbers 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15!!!!!! Believe it or not, bath towels are designed to be used more than once.
You have no problem unearthing a pair of jeans from your sister's laundry hamper and skipping off to the movies. . . . Why in heaven's name would you need to use -not one but - two freshly laundered bath towels each and every day?????



Are you ready for Part three????

Bathroom Etiquette - Part one

I realized just the other day that much of my family's current dysfunction centers around one room of the house - the room that is, indeed, the essence of most things teenager. . . the heartbeat of her world. . . the battleground of sisterhood . . . and, quite simply, the bane of my existence. For the cleaning, care, and maintenance of that one room is the source of more aggravation, heartache, and frustration than any other room in my house. As a result, I have decided to dedicate this blogging week to posting an extensive list of Bathroom Etiquette for my three lovely daughters.



And so, without further adieu, let's get down to business . .

A Mom on Spin's Bathroom Etiquette as it pertains to the "Toilette"

(a.k.a. the cat's water bowl)

1. When the toilet paper roll gets down to the brown stuff, you simply have to reach into the closet and install another roll.
2. 
   
   For all those who claim to not know how! to change the roll, installation instructions will be given on the first and third Mondays of the month throughout the year 2009.
3. 
   
   If (who am I kidding??? When) you use the facial tissues instead of changing the roll, it's okay to flush them down the toilet. You need not collect the tissues in the bathroom trash receptacle. (My God! That child goes through this house leaving a path of mess and destruction in her wake, and suddenly she's worried about the delicate plumbing system?????)
4. 
   
   When all of the tissues from the box on top of the toilet are gone, then you really must reach into the closet and pull out a roll of toilet paper. I know it's easier to pull out another box of tissues, but I beg you . . . Don't do it!!!!
5. 
   
   Even the best attempts at balancing the new roll on top of the empty roll will not work. You must attend the installation training session.
6. 
   
   If you see little paw prints on the toilet seat, that's okay. You know the cat's a tad finicky and will only drink the "Eau de Toilette"!
7. 
   
   If you leave a water bottle full of vinegar on the back of the toilet, your mother will unscrew the cap and sniff it (like she does every other water bottle she encounters in the house) and think What kind of God-forsaken thing are these girls up to now????
8. 
   
   If, you reply to her It's for my bladder infection. . . I told you, Mom! she'll be highly suspicious and run to verify your homeopathic remedy on google.
9. 
   
   If, by chance, you hear a funny trickling sound about five minutes after you have flushed the toilet, please re-enter the bathroom to verify that the "Eau de Toilette" isn't running over the edge of said "Toilette".
10. 
    
    And if, when doing so, you discover water everywhere, make sure you place that panicked phone call to your father, NOT ME!!!!

Until tomorrow, my friends. . . .

Rant and rave - teenage daughters - take two

Now where was I?

Oh yes, the last time we spoke I was complaining about my daughter's lack of cleanliness and the fact that I filled two lawn and leaf bags with errant clothing from the floor of her bedroom yesterday. (If, by chance, you have happened on this post and did not read yesterday's post entitled Rant and rave - teenage daughters - take one, please scroll down, read it, and make a silent resolution to be more faithful in the future.)

So there I stood along with my husband - staring at two large garbage bags and a pile of 18 baths towels on the floor of my daughter's bedroom.

Now what???

Quite honestly, we really hadn't thought about the next step.

We'd taken her jackets, her jeans, and her skirts.

We snatched up pajamas and bathrobes and skirts,

tank tops, and tube tops, and bras my-oh-my

sweatpants and thongs of enormous supply!

So what should we do with these two bags of clothes?

When our daughter sees them it might well come to blows!

But her mother, you see, was so crafty and slick,

she thought up a plan. . . and she thought it up quick!

Then, just like the Grinch spiriting the Who's toys and Christmas decorations up the side of Mount Crumpet, my husband stuffed those two overflowing bags into the back of his car and drove away.

Do you remember how little Cindy Lou Who innocently asked the Grinch why he was stealing her tree? Santy Claus, why? Why are you taking our Christmas Tree, why????

Well, the daughter in this story was not nearly as meek when she called at work to question me about the whereabouts of her clothing.

I'm not really sure I could trace the exact downward spiral of the phone call, but it ended with something like (well actually, it concluded with my daughter hanging up on me, but her parting words went something like. . . .) You better go see a shrink, because there's something wrong with you if you have to steal all my clothes!

And that, my friends, was the nice part.

And so, in a subsequent conversation, I recommended that the best and fastest way for her to get her clothing back would be to start by laundering the 18 bath towels. After that task was complete, we would talk about the rest.

And then I went to my favorite establishment to cry in my wine while my good friend listened.

When I returned home, I found my ever-patient husband holding my daughter's hand while she laundered those towels - upon the sight of which I headed directly to my bed.

And this morning, that husband of mine plopped the two bags of clothing on the floor of the laundry room and promptly left the state on a business trip.

So here I sit this evening . . . listening to the distant rustle of those garbage bags as my daughter pulls out each and every article of clothing in order to place in the washing machine; for the final verdict was that a minimum of three full loads of laundry had to be washed, folded, and put neatly away before her friend-who-is-a-boy can come to visit tonight.

Happy washing, my darling. . . Happy washing!

Rant and rave - teenage daughters - take one

As you can see, I have labeled this post Rant and Rave - take one.

That's because I already know that there will be a take two - and perhaps even a three, four, and five.

Last night (well actually in the wee hours of the morning) as I lay awake suffering from my Nomadic Sleep Disorder, I got a little worked up about something that had recently happened with my teenage daughters. As so, in the clarity that only comes at 3:00 a.m., I plotted today's post in which I was going to rant and rave about the money those young ladies had spent.

But yet, as I groggily stepped foot in my bathroom this morning - preparing to shower - I vaguely remembered that I needed to grab a clean bath towel because someone had smeared makeup (or so I hope) on my previous towel - causing me to throw it prematurely into the laundry hamper.

And so I paddled to my daughters' bathroom. . .

Knock. Knock.

The daughter with the long brown, perfectly-straightened hair answered. ( I know, all three of my daughters have long brown hair, but we're talking about the one whose hair is always perfectly-straightened.) I tell this particular daughter that I, Just need to grab a towel out of the linen closet.

She informs me that there are no clean towels in the linen closet.

Now ladies and gentlemen, I had occasion - just this past summer - to do a census of bath towels at our disposal in this house. The result of my investigation revealed that we had 32 bath towels residing in the house with us.

That's right, 32!

And not one of those 32 towels was clean, dry and ready for use this morning. (I need to admit that perhaps two of those towels were in my laundry hamper - one, of course, being smeared with brown makeup - leaving the other 30 towels to be somewhere in my daughters' bedrooms!)
And this little lack of towels, my friends, was just the start of my inauspicious morning . . .
Let me continue. . .


It seems only to make sense that a full-time working mother like myself would need a little help around the house from time to time. And so, every other Wednesday, a cleaning service comes to help out. (You can't envision my daughters with a vacuum in their hands - now can you?)

So the day before the cleaning service is to arrive, I begin to warn my daughters that their rooms need to be free of errant clothing so that the vacuum can touch the carpeting. And yet, for the last three-or-so-every-other-Wednesday mornings, a least one of my daughters had snookered me on their way out the door - assuring me that her room was "clean" when really it had been left a mess. And so, yesterday - determined not to be fooled yet again - I asked the daughter with the perfectly straightened hair (a.k.a. Trigger Finger Girl) not once, but three times, when she was going to ready her room for the cleaners. In return, I got the following answers: (1) Later! (2) Chill! and (3) I'll do it Mom! I promise!

Well, after the little bath towel incident, where do you think my feet paddled to next? You guessed it - her bedroom - which could have legally been declared a disaster area. (I know what you're thinking. . . . but even if I broke one of my cardinal rules about no photos on this blog, you would still be missing the sense of smell, and hence, would still not get the full effect.)

And so I pulled a trick from my older sister's playbook, went to the garage, and grabbed the box of big black trash bags. After extracting 18 (yes, 18!!!!!!) bath towels from the dispirit piles of clothing behind her bed, on the floor of her closet , and just plain-old strewn all over the carpeting, my husband and I filled two of those huge bags with her clothes!

I'm sorry faithful followers, but I feel like I've hit the final BEEP on the answering machine tape. . . the rest of the story is just too long for me to convey in one single night (especially because it ended with me crying in my wine with a good friend) so I'll have to ask you to tune in again.

Until tomorrow. . .

If I didn't. . . . . who would?

My teenage daughters, from time to time, have looked at me and asked, Why do you have to be such a Neat Freak, Mom?





I realized yesterday, as I carefully washed and dried the frying pan before even dipping a fork into my scrambled egg, that I'm not so much a Neat Freak out of habit, but of necessity - for every cleaning action I make is preceded by the silent question, If I didn't do this, would anyone else???

And because, by nature I'm a pragmatist, I figure that if I'm going to have to do the task, I might as well get it done sooner rather than later.

It's simple, really.

The next time you see a household chore that needs doing, ask yourself, If I didn't . . . . . who would? (You can fill in those ellipses with any action you wish, the end result will be the same.)


Take, for instance, toilet paper . . .



If I didn't change the empty roll of toilet paper, no one would! My darling daughters would use every last facial tissue in the house just to avoid having to replace that pesky roll.

Or how about my husband's coffee cup?



If I didn't remove that cup from the bathroom shelf, no one would! (At least not before it doubled as a daughter's science project!)




Get the picture?

If . . .

I didn't . . .

make the beds,

empty the dishwasher,

clean up the doggie droppings,

throw away the used coffee filter,

dispose of countless empty water bottles,

clean the brown scum out of the recycling bin,

empty that disgusting drainer from the kitchen sink,

ruin the original "hair art" on my daughters' shower wall,

or

~ heaven forbid ~

discard my husband's used toothpicks,

THEN NO ONE WOULD!!!!

(Hey, look! I made a Christmas tree!!!!!)

Yes, I'm a neat freak girls.

What do you plan to do about it???