Keep the House Clean or Sanitary, You Choose.

Last post I wrote about a book I thought about writing when I was younger and taking care of a young but large family.  My second chapter was titled,  "Keep the house clean or sanitary, you choose."  Here is what remains of the effort:

My first five children all came within a couple of years of each other, then there was a silent break and we got two more—but that’s another story.

The fun thing about having them all quickly is they were usually excited to do the same project.  There was a time when the youngest was old enough to enjoy the activity and the oldest was young enough to really have fun with all the sibs.  I called those the golden family years.  I loved going places together, because they were all excited and they all helped each other and I felt like the Pied Piper, happily leading this group of children off to fun times. 

The hard thing about having children close together was the mess.  I’m talking about the place where we ate, slept and played—our house.  It was impossible for me to keep it all organized and picked up, let alone the wash done and the meals on time.  Cleaning windows was just a dream. I never really did get the hang of it.  I don’t really know what I expected but I thought I could have done better. 

There were times when I would dig in and spend a few concentrated hours in a bedroom, deliberately and mechanically sorting each Lego and bristle block, marble and hot wheels car, until all were placed in their labeled and color-coded bin on the closet shelves, meanwhile ignoring all the racket and/or suspect silence in the rest of the house.   I would accomplish something—for me, it was a place well organized in my mind’s eye when I walked out of the room, and for the kids it was a clean slate to begin new play.  Within moments, the tidiness would be discovered and out it all came, for a rousing game of “garbage man” or else a new and improved project to be abandoned once again when it was meal time. 

There were some things that drove me wild—like honey or syrup on the counter tops or a toilet seat that needed cleaning. I would drop everything to take care of those problems, but inevitably something else would suffer.  I had a patient husband who didn’t complain very often about moving the Rocky Mountains disguised in unfolded clean clothes off the bed at night so he could go to sleep, or never blamed me when he had to step through the wild toy night-party in the hall on his way to the bathroom, even when it meant he would probably be prying a Lego or two out from between the toes.  His kind patience with our messy family touched me and I tried to think of what I could do to make it better for him.

One day I heard the car drive up and I knew he was home.  The table was set for dinner, and there was actually food ready to eat, but the kitchen floor was a mess.  Several different kinds of cereal were concentrated under the table; bread crusts and cracker crumbs paved the rest of the floor between the stacking rings and super balls randomly rolling across the floor.  I had sudden inspiration and I grabbed the broom and quickly removed the debris from the path he would walk to the table and where his feet would rest while eating dinner.  It was great, and it worked.  No tell-tale crunching underfoot!  I felt very successful that night, and often repeated the same quick clean up just before he walked in the door. 

One Clean Rag

Once I thought I would write a book, entertaining, humorous yet filled with bits of wisdom type of book.  Well, I have written, or rather co-written, several books about my ancestors, but those were not the kind I originally had in mind.  I'm in the process of moving files from my old computer to my new one, and took the challenge from my computer consultant (my son) to "clean house." This metaphor nicely segues into my topic I had chosen for a book I found when deleting old files: One Clean Rag.  I read it and slightly revised it, but for the most part, here is the first chapter and opening:

Now why would someone like me who is homemakingly handicapped want to share with someone like you, or anyone at all, tips and experiences from my life as a homemaker, or to use a more up to date term, “stay at home mom?”  (Both of those terms are misnomers anyway.)

Good question.  I can’t answer it except for my mind just keeps going several hundred miles an hour while I fold clothes or pull weeds, etc.  That’s my idea of dove tailing my tasks, thinking about other things while my hands are doing something else.  That’s the only way I could ever get through a toddler’s diaper change while pregnant and expecting the next one, that and an orange peel.  I learned how to change one handed almost while the other hand held the orange peel up to and covering my nose, then I discovered I could hold it gently between my teeth so the peel would curl up towards and sometimes over my nose.  It really works!  So there’s tip number one: the orange peel trick.  Use it and you will have no gagging. 

Anyway, back to what I am thinking about while I am vacuuming, etc.  My mind goes and goes and if I wasn’t so busy then I would write down all the things I think about. I am lucky if I even remember what I was thinking about a few hours after completing the task. But that is how I came up with a title for this book.  I remembered wishing this once---if I just had one clean rag. 

I don’t know what it is about kids, but when I clean the bathtub, toilet, sink and mirror, I use two rags, a wet one and a dry one.  I clean the mirror first because I have tried to clean it last and it doesn’t work, the dry rag is too wet.  Anyway, when my kids had to do the job, they used all the rags in the cupboard, plus most of the towels (and apparently some of the washcloths, because eventually those that used to be blue or green had white spotted areas on them).  Once after an army of small people helped clean, I ran to the bathroom cupboard for a rag to soak up something awful, and there was not one to be found.  Just a pile of soaking wet towels, rags, and washcloths on the floor, with the smell of cleanser in the air. My wish in that moment was to have one clean rag. 

A hard thing it is to teach a child what a real rag is (as opposed to nice kitchen towels) and use real rags to clean up things like oil, grease or paint.  Oft times they confused the dishtowels and dishrags with real rags, and I got real grouchy when I walked out in the garage, spied one of my newer  kitchen towels, tried to pick it up and found that it was permanently stiff and shaped in the position it was last used.  Sometimes I was not able to even pick it up because it was stuck to whatever someone tried to “clean up.”  If that happened, I went in the house and played solitaire on the computer until dinnertime.  It’s important to have outlets for  frustration and anger besides ones that damage stuff or make big messes, because guess who has to clean it up???? Or else buy a new something??? (My cousin Joan lays down on the couch with a spoon and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and watches TV.)

Something needs to be said about the fact my children tried to clean up after themselves, and also complete the tasks they were given.  "A" for effort kids, and also for cooperation.  And I also get kudos for teaching them and then stepping back and allowing them to learn for themselves, regardless of the risks of unraveling greater messes than the ones they were cleaning up. 

Now, later in my life, things are much different. I look at mothering from the perspective of a grandmother and I don’t really care so much about the rags--I finally have enough.  They are all stacked nice and neatly, folded even, some under the kitchen sink, some in each bathroom, and a kitchen drawer full of matching dishtowels and hand knitted dishrags, just waiting to be used.  Wally can even find them without asking me where they are.  Things change when the kids leave home.  I guess I'm one of those things.

DNA Testing--Now why did I do it?

I got caught up in the excitement of a couple of my sisters' DNA testing and I decided I would join the club.  After spitting in a tube (spit, gag, spit, gag, etc.) enough to fill it to the blue line, I regrouped and finished the test, dumping in some kind of stabilizer by pressing a release gadget, and then I sent it off wrapped and sealed in a nice little benign package already prepared and stamped with the postage to Ancestry.com.  They sent me the test tube cup and instructions and so now I send it back. After a few days, I got an email saying they had the test and soon there would be someone reading it.  And it was true.  A few more days went by and I got a notification. I opened my Ancestry account and according to my little helices, 62%  came from Great Britain, 25% Scandinavia, and 9% Ireland. Yes, there is a little percentage missing here but according to DNA experts anything less than 5% is considered "noise." Too bad.  I was a bit excited about the 1% European Jewish.

The second part of the DNA excitement was the raw data.  My sister Brenda told me to download it and then send it to Promethease.com which I did.  20 minutes later they had completed sending it through their computer base comparing me to several others (who are they and how many?) and I got a complicated and interesting report back. I have since taken up a new hobby besides knitting baby sweaters and watching interesting British movies and series on Netflix (Oh! the British! No wonder!).

I am pouring over this report and learning all about my tendencies.  Hmmm, what should I share? The four categories are Medicine, (what works for me and what won't). Medical Conditions (self explanatory), Topics (everything from male baldness to memory to micro-nutrient metabolism), and ClinVar.  What is ClinVar?  I looked it up of course, and read a little about it.  Here is a definition from a blog written in 2013 accessed through Google search:    The purpose of ClinVar is to “provide a freely accessible, public archive of reports of the relationships among human variations and phenotypes along with supporting evidence”.  This means it helps us understand disease and all potential targets for the disease. The writer, from Aspen Biosciences Blog, admitted that ClinVar is a work in progress, which makes sense. Every day new stuff is discovered and added to the database so to speak, and then all of us lay people can Google away and find out cool stuff about our bodies. Or at least the diseases we have a potential to get because of who our parents are, and who their parents were, and so on. 

So how does all this help? Well, one way is you go to your doctor and say "I need some medication for depression, and this, this, and that probably won't help me because my DNA raw data has revealed information about how my body doesn't metabolize those meds. But why don't we try ___?" Beats the old method of "Try this for six weeks and if it doesn't work, don't worry, there are other ones out there we can go to for results." Another little tidbit of info that interested me--my body is not absorbing much of the folate I take in. Why do I need folate? Well it's an essential B vitamin aiding the body in development of red blood cells and supporting the function of the nervous system. Someone said this is linked to our ability to think clearly . . . oh man, if the solution were only that simple.

Yep. Lots to think about.

A Series of Unfortunate Events Part 2

  The hives finally ran their course just in time for me to pack up and head off for youth conference in a place near Afton, Wyoming, and spend a few days and nights with very little sleep, as teenagers don't seem to need it.  The first night there Eryn hurt her foot, creating so much pain she couldn't even touch it to the ground.  The second day, hopping on her good foot, she sprained her ankle. The third day, we drove home early in the morning and I was calling Wally on the way, asking him to pick up some crutches for Eryn as we had to get her to the Instacare for x-rays and a diagnosis and some help.  I reminded him of the reunion later that day and he asked what needed to be done to prepare for the event, and so he made a potluck dish and got the car loaded up and ready (while tending two of our grandchildren) so we could be there on time. Meanwhile we found Eryn had dislocated the toe on her foot and we were lucky the Dr. was able to put it back in place--I say lucky because there was so much swelling he wasn't sure it was going to happen. Also Eryn's mom showed up (from California) just at the right moment to take over and I was able to go home and shower.
   The reunion was great, I had fun with my siblings and other family members, that night I got some sleep, and I thought we had turned a corner. Wally had once again bailed our family out of near disaster. That evening, Eryn said, "Why is there water coming out of this cupboard under the sink?" On closer examination Wally saw there was a rusted out connection and it was time for a new garbage disposal. Sunday we told our visiting family to use the other sink and explained the problem.  My son in law Jessie said, "Well, at least your new credit card is here so you can get a new disposal." He said it tongue in cheek but it was true.  Early Monday morning Wally ran to Home Depot before work and installed the new equipment and had it up and running before he went off to lay brick. That night I noticed the dishwasher wasn't draining so he removed the disposal again and popped out a little plug to fix the problem, and reinstalled it again. 
    Monday at work it got hot.  103 degrees as a matter of fact.  I had a lot of time to think about stuff while I was mowing and weeding and all of that.  I knew when I got home I would be worthless, yet one more time again.  I started thinking about the order of importance of things in my life.  I realized my plate was so full, it was overflowing and things were falling off and I was constantly calling on Wally to pick up the pieces. I was not considering him first, but last.  That was backwards.  I was giving most of my energy to my job, and then my volunteer assignments with church were next, and then my family.  I needed to make a change.  Early the next morning I sent off an email of resignation to my boss. He was out of town, touring with the Tabernacle choir as the stage manager. Needless to say he was not pleased. After some negotiations with him and counsel from my husband, we came to an agreement I would work with varied hours weekly, only as much as I was willing to commit to.  The challenge I faced was I love my job, the people I work with, my boss, where I work, and what I do.  It is one of the few things I do for personal pleasure--strange, I know.
   The next weekend was the 4th of July and we had a wonderful Reunion at our house with our kids and grand kids.              Things have started looking up. 
So what did I learn with these events? First, I learned it might be a good idea to get two credit cards, one to use and one for an emergency. Second, I learned when you have to go through your stuff because of a flood, it's a good opportunity to get rid of things you really don't use or need. Holding on to things "just in case" is kind of a way of hoarding.  I have it so no one else can use it, and I'm not even using it. And you can take as long as you like to put things back in the disassembled rooms in your house, it will wait for you. Third, I know it's good to listen to your body and your heart (and others around you) and slow down a little when you need to.  I admit I like living in the fast lane but sometimes going around the corners the wheels can come off and then what do you do? Usually I just call for Wally, but darn it, I want him to take the ride with me, not just watch me spin off in a new direction every day or so and then rescue me. And finally, I know it's my family who gives me the real motivation to do what I do, the real support when troubles arise, and the love that feeds me and centers me and makes me whole.  Thanks, guys. Love you, too.
And now I need to prepare for girls' camp.

A Series of Unfortunate Events Part 1

   I woke up early one morning (because the bathroom beckons me) and after I was back in bed, I was unable to go back to sleep.  I had a thought come in to my head, "Why don't you check your balance on your credit card?" My phone was on my nightstand, and I picked it up with that thought in mind.  A couple of months ago we decided to pay all our monthly bills plus charge the gas for our cars on our credit card and earn cash back, such as it is.  We then pay it off by the 28th, the prescribed day of the month before it begins to accrue interest for the credit union.  So far, so good. Until today.  I sat up with alarm--$1652.00 to Zleep Inn somewhere in Europe? I began to nudge Wally, still soundly sleeping beside me (I know, kind of  mean) and asked him if he knew anything about this. No of course not.  What was I talking about?  As the daylight began to fill our room, I kept checking the clock to see if our credit union was open.  I drove over and found out that yes, we had been a victim of credit card scam.  Everything was quickly remedied with the exception that we no longer had a working card until our new one came in the mail.  The woman who helped me said we could withdraw cash or try to write checks and see if they worked if we needed money. That day we discovered it's not convenient to buy gas with cash but it's doable.
     That evening, there was an incredible summer storm that drove us into the house from the deck,and we watched with awe the rain coming down in unprecedented walls of water, creating an inch deep lake on our covered deck.  One clap of thunder coincided with a flash of lighting and we all jumped nervously but our anxiety turned into laughter as we saw how affected we all were. I hoped for our garden plants to survive the heavy and sudden rain continuing longer that we anticipated.
     A couple of days later, crawling back in the bed again, this time late at night, Wally commented he thought he could smell something kind of funky in our house, and I ought to check my sewing room (down in the basement) the next morning and see if I could detect a problem.  This I did, and yes, there was a problem.  Water had also made a lake of our driveway during that incredible storm, and some of it breached the window well leading down to my sewing room.  Half of the carpet and pad were wet, and other various and assorted areas and items had been absorbing and mutating the water into strange biological concoctions for three days since the rain. I felt a bit overwhelmed, to say the least, and Wally and I began moving things out of the room, unscrewing and unbolting all the modular shelving that held fabric and such. We sorted dry vs. wet and made piles and filled garbage bags with things needing washing and things ruined and now destined for the landfill.  We jammed up the workroom and storage room with the disassembled shelving in order to clear off the carpet for water extraction.  I called my carpet guy and he came later that afternoon and because there was cement floor beneath the carpet and pad, it did not need lifting, only the (stinky) water needed to be removed. Yay! Also, he had no problem taking my check, although I explained it may not clear. Nice guy.  Three days later when it was dry he came back and collected his fans and cleaned all the carpets, which was somewhat a bad decision on my part as we had company coming for the weekend to celebrate June birthdays. Ah well. 
    Meanwhile, we were waiting for Jonah.  Sarah and Jessie were expecting a baby and we thought he would come early, maybe a week.  Turns out he was 2 weeks late, coming in just under the wire for his mother's eligibility to have him at the birthing center, which she had prepped and planned for the whole pregnancy.  Otherwise she would have gone to the hospital, so good job, baby. During that last week Wally and I had our 40th wedding anniversary and had a trip planned that we eventually postponed.  The little girls came and spent a few days with us during the week as Sarah was fighting for her sanity, a process only known by women who have carried a baby post-term, It was fun for us to have the girls anyway, except for one morning...
    I woke up to the sound of a little person whispering "Grandma, I'm ready for something to eat."  It was not an unreasonable request, or even unexpected.  I took a moment to get dressed and comb my hair, etc. when I noticed an overwhelming desire to scratch the dickens out of my legs.  I couldn't do it enough, and after a few minutes, I realized there was a problem.  I looked down and thought I had 85 mosquito bites over my upper legs, and they were welting up like crazy.  I then noticed my backside was itching, too, and I wondered what was happening to me.  Hives. I have never had hives before until that moment and it was wild.  I spent the next few days warding off new itching spells and welts on different areas of my body, or else sleeping though a drug induced coma from taking Benadryl.  Wally took care of the kids most of the time, and I just passed through the hours by timing when I could take my next fix. I discovered a blend of essential oils that reduced and cooled the itching, allowing me to have other thoughts in my head besides my incredible itching experience. (2 drops Myrrh, 2 drops Lavender, 4 drops carrier oil.) 

A Memory of Grandma C, part one

One time when I was little I was with Mom at Grandma C's house, and she allowed me to help with the dishes. She always had beautiful china, etc. that she used every day. On my way across the room to replace the dish on the shelf---crash! It slipped out of my fingers and broke. I was sick inside and paralyzed with fear. My mom immediately started to apologize for my error, and Grandma said, "Oh Anne, it's just a dish!" She very sweetly helped me clean it up and thanked me for helping with the dishes. I hope I never forget the way I was treated--I think it's a great thing to "pay it forward," don't you? My motto: Just remember it all eventually ends up in the land fill anyway. (the stuff). The way we treat people and the way we are treated is what stays.

Back Over Here

Okay after a long long hiatus and blogging with a different server, I have returned to Blogspot. It's free and I can't seem to manage all my different websites, etc. so I am simplifying my life.  More later.