Clean House

Just before Joe and I married we closed on a tiny, patio home. It had two stories, three bedrooms, 2 1/2 bathrooms, and at 1840 square feet it was perfect for us. When we returned from our honeymoon, we settled right in and set about making the house our home.


When my Nonna came from Italy for our wedding, I proudly showed her our little home. I showed her the kitchen, the large family room, the pretty wallpaper in the bathroom, and the babbling creek that ran through our backyard. She was very happy for me and kept grabbing me to give me a kiss, but after the tour she wondered how in the world I would be able to keep it clean. It was so big for a young couple! And you're both working! When will you ever have the time for housekeeping?


This is the same Nonna who, when I announced my engagement the summer before, gave me one of her wooden eggs ... you know, for darning socks. So when she expressed concern about my potential housekeeping problems due to lack of time, I simply considered it a very Nonna-like thing to say. And honestly, I loved her all the more for it. Fast forward to today.


We have since moved on from that tiny patio home, and we now have 3500 square feet, 3 1/2 bathrooms, a large kitchen, a rec room, a study, and a nice, large back yard. We also have three sons (with lots of friends!) and all day long they are in and out, slamming the back door every time. In. And out. Then, and those of you with boys will understand this, there is the boy's bathroom and ... well, we won't go there (unless you're wearing a hazmat suit). (Sometimes I think my Nonna had it easy ... she had three lovely, quiet daughters.)


To be honest, though, there is not a day that goes by that I don't think of Nonna's words, especially lately when it seems I am constantly playing catch-up with house cleaning; in fact, it seems no matter how much I clean, I never really seem to make any progress. I realize part of this is a result of all our recent house projects (hardwood flooring, carpeting, shower, kitchen sink) which turned almost every room into a demolition zone. Then, as soon as I finally got the house straightened up after the renovations, we had a little thing called an ice storm which caused a three-day power outage and resulted in mattresses and blankets being moved downstairs, laundry piling up, and stuff everywhere.


So you can see why I have lately been feeling like King Sisyphus who was doomed forever to roll a large boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down and have to repeat the entire process again.


Last night I finally realized I needed to make some changes. I needed to take charge again and not feel like a tumbleweed (or a dust bunny) blown hither and yon with the wind. I thought back to Nonna's words and was reminded how a clean, ordered home goes a long way in creating a restful environment and a peaceful heart. And because I believe in lists, I made out a cleaning schedule. I did some blog surfing for some innovative ideas, and I found one at Clover Lane which I adapted to fit our family's needs.


Nothing on my list is what I don't already do, but to have it written not only helps me see the entire picture, but it also helps me stay on task. Very simply, this is what I came up with: I assigned certain tasks (upstairs bathrooms, laundry, etc.) to a different weekday, thereby breaking down chores so that they are more manageable and not so overwhelming. I also made a separate list of chores for Deep Cleaning, and each week I select a room from that list for a deeper cleaning (baseboards, blinds, ceiling fans); basically, I do my individual weekday chores and then have the whole week to work on one Deep Cleaning Chore (DCC).


I feel better already.


And even though that little wooden egg is still sitting in the bottom of my sewing basket (does anyone darn socks anymore?) I have a feeling that Nonna would be proud.

CLEAN HOUSE

Monday: meal planning and grocery shopping

Tuesday: master bedroom and bathroom (sheets, dust, vacuum)

Wednesday: boys’ bedroom and bathroom (sheets, dust, vacuum)

Thursday: dust/vacuum downstairs; rec room; our laundry

Friday: boys’ laundry; powder room; kitchen

Weekly: one Deep Cleaning Chore

DEEP CLEANING CHORE (DCC)

 

master bedroom and closet master bathroom

boys’ room

timothy’s room

boys’ bathroom

guest bedroom and bath

kitchen

laundry and powder room

study

family room

dining room

rec room

The Backwards Birthday

This past Wednesday was my birthday, and all along I was thinking of it as my 48th birthday.


But later that afternoon I was speaking with my good friend on the phone and we were talking about birthdays and I said I was 48 and she interrupted me and said, "No, you're not."


And you know what? She was right! I'm not 48. I'm 47!!


Now, I ask you? Who does that? Who makes a mistake on how old they are and ADDS a year? I mean, if you're going to err, err in the other direction. Right?


Anyway, as much as I liked being 48, I like being 47 much, much better.


I guess you can say I had a backwards birthday.

Love, Mom

Today, for the first time ever, I purchased an issue of Rolling Stone magazine.


It's the February issue, the one with you-know-who on the cover. I thought I'd send it to Nicholas and his two Catholic roommates at Clemson.


Does this make me a cool Mom?

Dear Nicho,
Can you believe it?
The Pope?
On the cover of Rolling Stone?
Love,
Mom

A Super Bowl Dilemma

So here's the thing. I have a dilemma. A Super Bowl dilemma.


It's not about what team to cheer for ... I suppose if you were to press me I would tell you I'm going for the Seattle Seahawks for no other reason than I like the alliteration and think it's a pretty name. (Don't ever ask me to place a sports bet because my method would be totally unorthodox: for me it's all in the name, the team colors, and whether or not they have a cute mascot.)


No, I'm in a quandary because I don't know what I'm going to do tonight at 9:00 p.m. when Downton Abbey begins. Stay and watch the Super Bowl? Go to another room and watch PBS? Stay and bond with the guys? Go and see if Bates figures out what actually happened to Anna?


Stay? Go? Stay? Go?


Decisions, decisions.


Like I said ... a dilemma.

The Big Reveal ... in 7 quick takes

~1~ People said we were crazy, but we planned it this way on purpose. During a period of seven days we had the following done in our house:


removed all the upstairs carpeting
added brand new carpeting in three bedrooms
added hardwood floor to the master bedroom and hallway
added a Corian sink and a brand new faucet in the kitchen
replaced the sliding shower door in the master bath with a rubbed oil bronze one


Seven days, people. We had workers bumping into each other on the stairs, angling for a parking spot in our driveway, and sharing each other's tools. For a time we had neither a shower in the master bathroom nor a sink in our kitchen. For seven days our front door remained unlocked, and people came and went at will.


Seven days of total upheaval then meant seven days of massive cleaning. I mean there was dust everywhere. I wiped down walls, washed curtains, mopped floors, and laundered bedding.


Here it is the end of January, and my spring cleaning is done. Finito.

~2~ Master Bedroom: Before

~3~ Master Bedroom: After

~4~ Timothy's Room: Before

~5~ Timothy's Room: After

~6~ Kitchen: Before

~7~ Kitchen: After

new sink = new dish soap and hand lotion
(grazie, Jill!)


*no go visit Jen at Conversion Diary, host of these Friday quick takes

Gotta Love Him

Remember when I wrote about Jonathan ... he of the nice smile, cute dimples, but QUIET personality?


Well, last night he comes home from work and tells me he requested next Wednesday off. You see, he had heard that my parents and Joe were going to be out of town on my actual birthday ... and he wanted to make sure he was here for me.


So, he has the nicest smile, the cutest dimples, AND he's thoughtful.


I think I'll keep him.

Finish the Sentence

When our two oldest sons began playing school sports, a whole new world opened to us. At first it was all good (and fun!), but one day, without even realizing how it happened, or when, things turned serious and not so fun anymore. I won’t go into all the issues, but sitting in the stands you could sense an undercurrent of unease. Something was wrong, but nobody wanted to say or do anything. And who could blame them? Put the words kids and sports in the same sentence and you instantly create a hot topic. Furthermore, coaches and athletic directors carry a big stick, and to say anything means being ostracized from other parents or being branded a “bad sport”.

But my husband and I had some ideas on how to improve the sports program. We quietly set up a meeting and amicably presented them. At no point (and I want to be very, very clear about this) did we discuss playing time or whether or not a child deserved to make a team; also, the meetings weren’t about our boys, but about all the students. At those meetings we presented some ideas concerning oversight of the sports program, accountability for coaches’ behaviors; a more standardized method for conducting tryouts; and ways to better promote inclusion for our young athletes. Ultimately, we felt our school’s theme of a Christ-centered atmosphere was not represented in our sports program – not by a long shot – and some changes needed to be made.

So two meetings, with two different past administrations (again, to be clear, the meetings weren’t with our current administration) and what happened?  Absolutely nothing.

Oh, we could have pursued it further. We could have gone to the school board, or presented it at a PTO meeting, but at the end of the day my husband and I looked at each other and realized: It’s just sports, for God’s sake. It’s a game with a ball. In the grand scheme of things, none of it matters. Middle school (and high school) is a blip on life’s radar. A blip.

So we let it go. Our two oldest sons had some great seasons, and some not so great ones. They made most teams, but not all of them. Middle school ended, and high school meant new challenges and issues: a football coach who told one son that he wasn’t necessarily needed on the team; a son who made the basketball team one year, but the following year was pushed aside for players who never participated in tryouts or any of the pre-season practices; coaches who saved spots for players still involved in other sports, thereby ignoring those present and willing to play. Yes, there were issues, but we dealt with them at home, as a family, as best we could.

Then this past week a friend shared on Facebook her helplessness in dealing with her daughter’s tears due to a team sports situation, and even though we have moved on (at least until our little guy is old enough to start playing for the school) I felt compelled to comment; in fact, there were comments from many people, most of whom were sharing honest, personal, and sometimes painful experiences. The comments were not accusatory, but empathetic in nature. Most importantly, they were encouraging dialogue.

That is, there was dialogue up until the point someone expressed how they were offended by both the original post and the ensuing comments and, just like that, no more dialogue.

Whoa. Refer to the last couple of sentences in Paragraph One.

Offended? How, how was this person offended? The comments weren’t about their pain; the comments weren’t their stories. Was this person offended by honesty? Offended because we were openly talking about problems in our sports program, something which most people only whisper about? Did this person think we should be going through the channels instead of commenting on Facebook? (Well, refer to Paragraph Two above. Been there, done that. Twice.)

Or maybe it’s because they thought we were complaining about our school.

Look. My husband and I live in a great county in which there are a number of great public schools a short bus ride away. We don’t have to send our boys to a Catholic school. But we choose to do so, and the fact we are still there shows that we love our school. We support it. We promote it. But that doesn’t mean it’s perfect, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. Too often I have heard people say, “It’s a great school; it’s not perfect, but …”

And they leave it at that. An unfinished sentence.

But what? It’s not perfect, but we just ignore that un-perfect part? But we choose not to acknowledge certain issues? But it’s not happening to me so it’s not important?

It’s not perfect, but we don’t care?

I recently watched Out of Africa, and toward the end of the movie Meryl Streep’s character has lost everything: her farm, her house, and her way of life. Before she returns to her native Denmark, she is determined to find a place for a tribe of South Africans who have been living on her land for generations. She appeals to her neighbors, her friends, and even government officials for help, but they are all embarrassed about her situation. They are offended because she is intruding in their perfect world with her oh-so-imperfect problems.

Well, there is so much that is imperfect in our perfect world.

Ever since his election Pope Francis has said that he prefers a Church which is bruised and dirty from having been out on the streets; that we need to come out of our comfort zones – leave our schools, churches and homes – and go out to confront illness, poverty, ignorance, injustice, prejudice, pain … all those elements of humanity which are messy. All those things which make people not experiencing them, uncomfortable. Offended, even.

But how – from the comforts of our schools, our churches and our homes – can we address all these things? It’s not so hard; as with most things, it begins by standing on what is good, opening our eyes to the not so good, and making changes right here in our schools, our churches and our homes. And during the process – by making it about others and not about us – in big matters and in small, in political arenas and in sporting ones, the good has the potential to become even better.

So, fill in the blank with whatever is your circumstance (school, church, home, family, government) and finish the sentence: It’s a great school; it’s not perfect, but … but there’s room for improvement; but we are addressing the issues; but we are making some changes; but we are learning, forgiving, trying.

Finish the sentence. And it starts from there.