Recently in Housework Category

Accomplishing a Lot and Not Much

Yes, that's an iris in the background. They're insane.

A couple of days ago, when summer gave one last gasp and spiked the temperatures up to 70-degrees, the boys and I ran outside, our last chance to play in the leaves. 

I say play. I mean "let's play a game called let's rake the leaves into this garbage bag. Whoever fills their bag the fastest wins bigger piece of brownie."


Before the burrowed into the pile. Also, haircuts since then. They are not wearing hair bowls.

We all lost because we were too busy obliterating the piles after we raked them. 

But because I'm the Mom I cut us all each big brownie pieces anyway. And yea, it was so. 

At the end of a long day


All I want to do is bake.

And then eat it all, obviously.


My most unfavorite chore besides cleaning the toilet. The only thing that makes laundry pleasant is the smell from the dryer sheets we use. Recently Liam took over the task of folding his own clothes and putting them away. THAT ALONE should complete my parental requirement.

(The quilt you see was a handmade gift from my longtime friend, Rose. It hangs like over the stairwell to the kitchen because the idea of my boys making tents out of it scares me.)
I need to call an exterminator. I have discovered a nest of man socks underneath the living room chair:

Guess who's favorite place to sit this is??

I think feet are one of the most disgusting things in existence. I cannot stand them. I don't like touching things that have been on them or touching them, I do not like touching other people's feet, and I don't like them touching mine. I have never gotten a pedicure for this reason and were I forced to get one I would probably throw up. Baby feet are excluded from my neurosis, only until around age three, and Ewan is almost at the age where I will find his ham hocks repulsive. It's just a matter of time.

Seriously, what makes one think Oh HEY! I'm going to take off my socks and STUFF THEM UNDER THE CHAIR instead of taking them upstairs to the hamper? Not once, but repeatedly?

Yes, there's dust under my chair. Just doing my part to keep it real.

Two days' worth right there. Gawd, grody! I can't touch them. In order to grab them and put them in the hamper I have to get the Dyson, affix the hose attachment, and suck them up at the end of the hose before dropping them in the hamper. Superfluous action, I know, but necessary to avoid any flesh-dissolving bacteria associate with cloth footwear.

This positively aggravates me beyond belief. What's even scarier is that Ewan now thinks that stuffing one's spent clothing under furniture is totally acceptable. Do you realize how unnerving it is when guests arrive and you spy a nest of evil beneath the club chair? There is no graceful way to to hide it; I once tried to kick them further under the chair except I kicked too hard and they shot across the hardwood floor much like a giant rat. My guests jumped. After that I'm sure they were so excited to eat the food I cooked for them.

Chris always says that he'll pick them up later. I've decided that later is the time that I'll write about it and post it on the internet.


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Dana asks: "Thanksgiving Traditions: Yours or Your Mother's?"