The Year We Ruined Christmas

50s Initiative Update #1

So excited was I over the prospect of a new project, I jumped right into becoming the perfect 50s homemaker. (Please. No housewives here. Homemakers, or even Home Engineers. Never mind the fact that I work full time.)

I read, researched, and laughed at the wonderful hints I found. Here are the two tips I embraced from my reading immediately.

1. Clear away all clutter.  Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives, gathering up school books, toys, paper, etc. Then run a dust cloth over the tables. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift, too.  (This one is from http://vintymag.wordpress.com/2007/05/07/1950s-homemaking-tips-a-crash-course/.)

2.  Speak only in a low, soothing voice. Your husband has worked hard all day and will appreciate a calm atmosphere.  Can't remember where I read this gem. 

The result?  Well, first of all, who doesn't appreciate a cleaner, less cluttered home? Hubby and I both reaped the fruits of this last clean sweep, though he did think it very odd that I was overcome with a frenzy of activity just as he walked in the door. I guess my timing isn't quite right yet.

Tip #2 wasn't quite as well-received. While I felt my voice was low, soothing, and pleasant, husband found it "creepy."  I told him he didn't need to hear the shrill, strident tones of my female voice, but he replied that he preferred it to my new, Stepford tones.  I don't take that as total rejection though--it just means that my soothing nature needs to grow on him. 

Sh! It's Just a Little Secret Between Friends

It's true. I find Midnight Fantasy by Britney Spears hauntingly beautiful. Actually, it's more fruity than haunting. But try though I might, I just can't get rid of it. I bought it in a moment of bargain-induced shopping insanity last summer (and with the FULL approval of the shopping buddy du jour, I'll have you know).

After a several weeks of use, it became apparent that this scent was causing the breakout/mrsa condition on my chest and arms. Not wanting to visit the land of adult acne, I tried to trash it, but it seemed so wasteful to throw away an almost new perfume. So I put it away. Last winter, I cleaned my bathroom cabinets and found it again. It was almost in the trash before I decided to give it a last-minute whiff. The fruity fragrance seemed cheery in the bleakness of midwinter, so I decided to keep it.

Yesterday, I was once again editing my toiletry collection. I remembered how I'd had such a ridiculously hard time getting rid of this nasty item. This time, the fragrance went straight into the trash. An hour later, though, it called out to me. I tried to resist, but its siren song was too mighty. And yes, I did retrieve it from the trash. (Nothing else was in the can, but that certainly doesn't make it right, does it?) Again, it smelled fruity, fresh, and summery. I developed a plan to wear it only after spritzing it on top of my clothing--after all, that would buffer any sort of nasty skin reaction.

Today, I've woken from the headiness of my midnight fantasy with Brit. Again, I try to throw it away. Again, it has sneaked its way back into the bathroom cabinets. Again, I smell of the forbidden fruit...

He's Off to a Better Place

Sadly, my beloved Bissel Spotbot kicked the bucket today. He gave a few half-hearted attempts at sucking up dirty water, and he emitted a few bubbly, watery sighs, and that was it.

Although it's probable that none of you know Spotbot, I'd still like to send him off to the eco-friendly garbage depot in the sky publicly. He put in at least 4 years of solid service sucking all sorts of nasty pet messes out of my carpet. He will be missed, and he will be quickly replaced!

All in a Day's Work

Dog walked several times? Check.
Ginger peach iced tea made? Check.
Fresh granola cooling on the counter? Check.
Balance exercises with Wii Fit completed? Check.
Read a chapter in 17th-century medicine book? Check.
Prescriptions ordered and allergy shots obtained? Check.
Straightened out automatic deposit mess with bank? Check.
Hot and sour soup made with farm-fresh spring onions? Check.
Yogurt with fresh raspberries culturing away in the kitchen? Check.
Planned lessons and ordered supplies for science camp that I regret agreeing to? Check.
Homemade buttermilk ranch dressing gently coating the leaves of fresh-picked spinach? Check.

Enjoyed the sunset on my first day of summer vacation? Check.

We Bid You Sweet Adieu

Adieu to a favorite food. So it is. After extensive (and I mean EXTENSIVE) allergy testing, I've been found to have an undiagnosed allergy. No big deal--I expected that. Really. I expected to have myriad mold allergies, and perhaps a few other green-plant issues. I was ok with that. I had gotten to the point where I just wanted to 1)breathe better and 2)feel better. Here's the deal.
I've had lots o' incidences of flu and strep this year, and I've had the Big Nasy (the flu) twice. I need to make it clear that I'm not usually sickly, so this is very atypical for me.
But I've had issues nonetheless.

So I was expecting something(s) to be found during this testing. You know, the usual suspects: pollen, trees, dust, grass (check to all). But I was not expecting to be told I had quite a significant peanut allergy. In fact, I've been enjoying peanuts quite happily my whole life. Well, if the whole truth is told, I've lately been feeling a bit smug about the fact that I could enjoy peanuts and that the poor others with allergies couldn't...I guess the tables have been turned. No more peanuts for me.

Sorry, So Sorry

I've had a nasty stomach bug for a while. I'm so sorry that I missed the birthdays of some great friends. Happy birthday to you all, and I apologize for not sending cards!

My Dog Ate My Homework...and everything else

Really, how nasty does this floor look? The stains, the mess, the horror. Don’t answer; I’m well aware that it’s PDG (pretty darn gross)—that’s right, I’ve got Teacher Voice on. And yep, that’s right, my little dog is once again the subject of my post. How on earth does a 4-lb. dog generate this mess? Seemingly she took up this messiness overnight. In fact, I used to secretly gloat that my tiny dog was so fastidious about both hygiene and eating that she was just a cut above other dogs. Um, well, I guess I didn’t knock on wood, because this dog’s mess has hit me. Isaiah tried to solve to problem by moving the food bowl. The dog retaliated by refusing to eat for two days. Not a big deal to you? It is to me—last time the dog stopped eating, she had to go to the doglet hospital and get on an IV to the tune of a cool $750. We'd prefer that she eat.

What Song Do You Sing?

While washing your hands, that is.

With the school year beginning, I’ll once again be subject to OSHA training, SARS training, Pandemic Flu training, dirty bomb attack training, bulldogs running on the field training, VA sunscreen regulation training, and the list goes on. While I’d always rather be somewhere else (like on a beach in

Bermuda

), I don’t exactly mind the hygiene/hand washing session.

In fact, I am a bit fanatical about hand washing, and I wish all my coworkers were. Back in the day, I was a state certified Missouri Food Handler (I think I still have my card), and I just can’t shake the wisdom that came of the two-hour seminar. Those guys falling asleep in the back row don't know what they missed, especially the lesson on how to clean one's hands.

For proper hand washing to occur, the CDC recommends several things, including rubbing one’s hands together vigorously with soap and water for about 20 seconds. It is often recommended that one sing the chorus of a familiar song to oneself in order to mark the proper amount of time. There are several options out there. I myself prefer to sing (in my head) the first two verses of Mary Had a Little Lamb. If I’m feeling extra grimy, I’ll throw in the third. I believe my brother sings Happy Birthday to You, because as a veterinarian, he understands disease. Another friend sings the Alphabet Song.

What do you sing? (And please tell me you do!)