Party poooper?

So I survived a birthday slumber party with several eight and nine year old little girls over this past weekend. Let me just say first off, I quit smoking in January and have rarely craved a shmoke. I dearly wanted one at 6AM this morning as they woke me up screaming and running through the house.

I knew that the girls would be in and out, in and out all day/night long so I didn’t make the house spotless before they came over. Yeah, it was clean. But, it coulda been cleaner, and I wasn’t too afraid knowing that my floors weren’t mopped, and the child’s room wasn’t spotless, and so on. I knew that once they left, I’d have the opportunity to fix and clean everything.

And I didn’t set any rules. No, I didn’t want to throw a bunch of rules at the girls, and expect them to actually listen. I didn’t want to sound like an old, biddy so I let them do what they wanted. Oh my freaking gosh . . . a mad house, I was in a freaking mad house.

I was literally going, OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG .. ! Oh – My – FREAKING – Gosh! Look at my floor! Look at my couch! Look at my kitchen! Oh my poor poor kitchen!!! Don’t worry cabinets, they won’t slam you shut much longer. No, they’re parents will pick them up soon. Oh, ‘fridgerator, don’t cry. The spilled milk on your shelves can be cleaned up. Oh there, there .. let me get it!

I cringed. And I cussed under my breath. I held my breath. I looked away, and covered my eyes. I peeked through my fingers and saw them pillow fighting with my couch cushions, and I was like ohhhh myyyy freeeeaking goshhhh!!

I finally got them all to settle down and eat some breakfast. Cake and ice cream for breakfast, all around! I sugared them up and sent their little butts home. And then I got to cleaning! And I cleaned. And I smiled. And I loved every minute of it.

An OCD he’s not, God love him!

Washing day here. Great day for it. Lots of sunshine and warmth, bit of a breeze happening. All adds up to perfection for clothes and linen.
Nothing like the smell of sunshine and the breeze in your freshly washed clothes, sheets and towels.
Anyhow, I’ve just gone to hang mine out, in my own inimitable manner, and my SO said he would give me a hand.
Now, I was good! I suppressed the small shiver that threatened to engulf me! I thought it was a sweet offer!
I’m not an ungrateful person, and part of the reason I love this man is because of things like this. He’s always more than willing to help where he can, so being the nice person I am, my only reaction was to say thank you sweetheart, that would be nice.
As we were doing the task (with me only having to change a FEW little things…eg, peg colours were wrong, towels only had 4 pegs instead of 5, little things like that) I told him about my hanging the washing post and that the other girls wanted me to post photos once I got a USB cable. Following is the (very) short conversation regarding same:

HIM: “Hmmm…guess I won’t be helping that weekend then?”
ME: “Why darl?”
HIM: “Cos there’s your way and God f**king help me!!”

And still, I love him regardless of the blood he very inconsiderately left on the verndah and tiles as he ran for bandages!

I need a life

Actual conversation with my mother today.

Mom: So what kind of fun and excitement did you get into last night? [Saturday night]

Me: Oh, not much. I cleaned and polished my washer and dryer.

Mom: Really.

Me: Yup. And the facing of the dishwasher.

Mom: Oooh, exciting.

Me: Yup. I know it. I’m gangsta to the core.

Mom: You need a life.

Me: *Makes a face behind her back*

She, BTW, went on a date and spent four and a half hours at the Burger King, sipping sodas. And I’m the one that needs a life.

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

Cleanliness rocks my socks

 

I don’t trust any kind of cleaner that I can’t smell. Take the new Clorox Anywhere spray cleaner mumbojumbo. It’s like water. Water. It has no smell. No color. It’s like spraying water everywhere, and cleaning it off. How do you know for sure that it’s actually clean if you can’t smell the cleanliness?

I like the smell of cleaners. Wood polish, yes please! Windex, over here! Bleach, hells yes. Give me some bleach, and I’m a happy camper. I mop with bleach water. Always. Twice a week. No fail.

A few weeks ago, the daughter came home from being away at her dad’s for a week, and I had just finished mopping the kitchen and bathrooms.

Her: *sniffs around* What’s that smell, Ma?

Me: I just mopped.

Her: Yeah, but what’s the smell? *sniffs more*

Me: It’s bleach.

Her: *big sniffff* Mmm, Mama, it smells soooo goood!

Me: Yes, that’s called cleanliness.

Her: My dad’s house doesn’t smell like cleanliness.

Me: *my heart bursted wide open, smiling from within* No, huh?

Her: No, that’s why I like living here.

Me: Good answer.

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

A little down time

Okay, so I threw my back out the other day causing me to be bed-ridden most of the weekend *ughhh!* which in turn made my house completely and totally unruly. It was a mess, noone picked up after themselves. The dishes were piling up. There were empty glasses in the living room. Dirty clothes were spewed everywhere. The dog was starving and becoming quickly dehydrated. I was not happy.

But then . . then, the husband decided he wanted “to help”. He did laundry. He cleaned the kitchen. He attempted to fold my towels. And he rearranged the bathroom towels. And he put dishes up where they don’t belong. And he folded my towels! And he swept the kitchen floor the wrong way. And he didn’t pick up the poop off the floor. And he folded the towels! And he left wet laundry in the washer. And he gave the dog too much water *yes, he can have TOO much* And and .. and he folded my towels!!!

I understand he was trying to help, but he wasn’t helping. Once I’m up and running again *which I’m hoping is tomorrow!!* I’ll have to redo everything. Until then I’ll just wince and cringe at everything he touches.

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

Seeing the light

People are starting to come to their senses about what really matters in life AND searching for it. Finally!

One of the search terms used yesterday to find this little den of compulsion was…***drum roll please***

Correct way to hang washing!!

I was so excited when I saw it I had to go and do a machine load JUST so I could hang it out the RIGHT way (read MY way)

Bring it on baby…bring it on!! Come and learn from the experts my little pretties…we’ll teach you the right way to do things (as a bonus, we’ll also advise on penalties for those stupid enough to try and change the way of OCD’s)

WOOHOO!!

**Doin’ the happy dance**

Weekend getaway

 

I had the weekend to myself.
The child was at her dad’s house.
The husband was in Louisville, looking after his Mamaw as she recovered from surgery.

I was left alone. For three days. I would assume that most women might take a break if they had the weekend to themselves. Perhaps go shopping. Go out with the girls. Take in a few movies with a pizza and a couple of beers. They might possibly catch up on the latest book they’re reading or a trashy celeb magazine. They would do what they’d want to do. I could see it happening.

Me? I cleaned. Yes, I cleaned while my lovelies were away. I had time to clean. Thoroughly clean without interruption. Without someone coming behind me and messing something up. Without someone stopping me halfway through the mopping of the kitchen, or when I was elbow deep in dish water. I got to detail my house, and I enjoyed every moment of it.

It was nice.

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

Could care less #12

Something I could give two shits about:

Ironing. I don’t iron unless I absolutely, positively, no-way-around-it have to. I own an iron. I even know how to use it, and how to iron well. I just don’t like doing it. It feels too much like a chore to me.

I especially don’t like having to iron the sheers in my living room. I dare not call them drapes, if my Mother knew I had called them drapes, she’d have my hide. No, they are sheers and I wash them occasionally because they do get dust on them and for them to be thoroughly clean, they must be washed. Hand washed, mind you. But washed.

ANYHOW!

When I wash and dry them, there is always a slight wave in the fabric once they’re dry. They are not wrinkles, but it’s not perfectly slick and straight either.

I like them this way.

And I’m reminded every single time *yes, every time* my mother visits – I have to iron my sheers because they’re wrinkled. But I digress, won’t do it.

I might break out the iron two or three times a year. On special occasions only.

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

The final step

Once the correct procedure has been followed for washing and hanging, when it’s dry, then we need to get it off the line. This is achieved in the following manner (and NO other way…which is NO surprise I’m guessing…)

I have a cane basket. The only purpose it serves in life is to put the clean, dry washing in. Plastic ones aren’t good enough, it must be the cane one
First the socks and knickers. Socks MUST be paired thus: Put them together and line up the heels. Fold in half from top to toe, then in half again in the same line. Take the outside edge of the sock and fold over the body leaving a slim little package. There cannot be any creases. Drive me to insanity. Mine first, then Marks
Knickers: Little finger against one side seam, thumb against the other. Bring the sides together, one over the other making a neat little package in the middle and fold down over the crutch. Again, mine first, then Marks
Shirts are next (those that are pegged, not the ones on hangers) After being given a shake, the shoulders are lined up, seam to seam. Sleeves are folded in where they join the body, they are then folded in 3, from top to bottom, encasing the sleeve inside the fold. Not once, or twice, it must be 3 times. Mine are first, followed, by trousers, pants or shorts, all mine.
Bottoms (including sleep wear) are all folded differently depending on what they are. Work trouser are folded in the manner they are worn. Side seam to side seam so as to preserve any crease left after washing. Once this is done, they are folded in half lengthways, then in half again, always with the wider side facing up once in the basket. Shorts and sleepwear are folded at the middle seams and then in half for shorts, and 3 for jammie bottoms. Again, the wider side must be facing up.
After these come any wind cheaters, jumpers or vests, all folded the same as shirts.
As with all things, mine are done first with Marks on top, in the same order and folded the exact same way. Hankies are last.
Linen is done after the basket has been emptied of all clothes. Clothes and linen do NOT go together under any circumstances! Penalty (as is the case with many things when it comes to my washing) could be grievous bodily harm!!!
Shirts on hangers are placed on top of the pile of folded clothes and it is all taken inside and put away in the correct drawer/wardrobe.
Now, the funny thing is, after all this fuck arsing around with the washing and getting it right, I don’t give a rats arse whether or not it goes away without being ironed. Besides, I don’t iron!! Mark does, and he does it as we need it!! Go figure???
Having said that, there are few creases to iron out if they’re done properly anyway.
Please note I haven’t gone into how I fold the linen. I already explained the correct (read MY) way to fold towels on another post, and if I explained the others?
Well shoot people, I don’t want you thinking I’m a complete froot loop now do I???

OCD, When it first cropped up.

I noticed the first signs of O.C.D. (for those of you who are not familiar with the term, it stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) cropping up after I had my first son (back in 1991). I started to compulsively wash my hands. I had seen a show on, yes, Oprah about O.C.D and I’ll never forget the moment it occurred to me as I stood hovering the sink washing my hands for the ump-teenth time that THIS WAS indeed becoming some type bizarre ritual for me. Shoot, my hands were starting to crack from being washed so often. I then, forbid myself to “over wash” my hands because I didn’t want to wind up on the Oprah Show as her next freakish guest.   I am grateful to that show because otherwise, I would never had known I was doing something out of the norm.

Then it took a turn for the worse, consuming my mind and making me miserable and anxious (especially at night making it difficult, if not impossible) to fall asleep. Here’s just one example. Let’s say the husband and I took our son on a hiking trip.  Oh, it was a beautiful sunny day.  Some areas were high, and we came upon several cliffs.  I had an eagle eye on my son, there was never danger involved.  However, that night as I lay in bed… my body was just starting to relax, my mind wandered, and BAM!  I would envision us at the top of this cliff and my son would toddle off the end, falling to his death!  My heart would freeze and I’d literally jump up from my rest!  WTH?  Just as I would lay there and reassure myself that my son was safely sleeping in his crib and all was ok, the next horrific scene would pop into my head and cause greater anxiety!

Then came the cleaning. It had to be done. And, not just a quick “once over”. No, I had to thoroughly clean every nook and cranny. This was quickly beginning to wear me out and make me feel rather incompetent. Because not only was I a new bride and mother with all that entailed, I began on a journey of something that could never be accomplished; pure perfection!  Cleaning had to be done my way or the highway! I even use to clean at my sisters house when I’d go over there for a visit (nearly every day). Even taking off her plastic shower curtain liner and putting it in her washing machine before scouring her bathroom.

It got to the point where she said one day, “You know, you don’t have to come over and clean, you could just come over and visit” and I was like, “Huh?” I wasn’t doing it for her (Silly Billy!). I was doing it for me. For my peace of mind! I guess in my mind, it was some fantasy, when I came to her house, it was a hot mess, but when I left it was gleaming! So, in my mind, it would stay that way? Hmph!

I couldn’t even leave my house before it was spotless. Even just to go to the grocery store because if I shopped and came home, and things were messy that might send me over the edge? Holy cow, was the world going to come to an end?

These days, my OCD has tamed down a lot. I take meds for depression and anxiety and it must helps with the anxiety ridden thoughts associated with OCD too. Now, I just catch myself doing these quirky little things that seem harmless; I really just try to keep them in check. I allow myself just a few. My husband doesn’t even know this but…

I’ve already told you about the nick in the elevator wall at work that I have to touch when the elevator begins to move, about the obsession I have with the cruise control button in my car, but I thought about one more that I have never told to a soul, until now.

Again, this is one that I do at work. When walking down the quiet halls in the wee hours of the night; when I pass this certain hall intersection, a type of alarm sounds – I keep walking, only, this time I walk a bit faster and try to get to the next hallway “intersection” without taking a breath because it would be bad luck…. OMG, I cannot believe I wrote this down. It’s so childish, it’s almost like while walking with my siblings or friends as a child someone would say, “Step on a crack you break your mama’s back!” — it’s exactly the same thing. Only, I’m not a kid, and I know I cannot have bad luck from taking a breath while this little alarm buzzes. I literally have to MOVE f-a-s-t before I take a breath and take a step over onto the next hallway for safe passage.

I’m a freak, don’t ‘cha just love it? What about you? What form is your OCD taking these days?