Obviously I milked last week's remodel for everything it was worth, and hoped its fabulousness would leave you all in awe, and possibly tears, long enough to buy me some time not posting.
But I feel a mutiny. Facebooking Moxlings are crying out under heaps of near-fatal laundry, while others are concocting their own routines (traitors!) and even making their one year olds tow the line with their tender little fingers. (Just kidding Kasondra, I know Franklin's a natural-born Moxling.)
Then there was the little matter of my one true love, Mesina, giving birth to my one-third-son, Jared Alexander, so of course I've been oohing and awwing and gutting Old Navy like a fish. But if I know Mesina, her babymoon will find her dancing with her Dyson faster than you can say, "whythefuckdon'tyoulivehere?"
Now, unless you've just had a baby or some equally plausible excuse, it's time to get back into the business of fighting the ever-threating shit hole.
This weather has been a total tease, and I know that goddamned sun is out to thwart my mission, but hold fast to my promise that keeping your digs tidy needn't be as laborious as you think.
I was born wired to clean on Saturdays, every Saturday, and I remain hopeful that most of you can share in kicking off your weekends by putting a little muscle where your mess is. You can do this.
Today we have afternoon plans, which only makes me go faster, like a streak, carrying an array of solvents, hoping to God I'm not singing along to my iPod. As most of you know, I clean best in my underwear, starting the instant my feet hit the floor, but after thoughtlessly answering the door in my skivvies a couple times, I bought shorts on one of my Jared runs. Black shorts, because I clean best in black.
The house has been in pretty decent shape because we began remodeling in there first, so I don't want to slice my skin off with a razor blade every time I walk in. However, dust is a merciless bastard, and clutter will be the death of me. Now I'm left to details, which are not my favourite, but oh the psychic rewards.
This morning, I have:
-Stared at my vintage clock I got for christmas and mounted last night.
-Made the bed.
-Dusted all immediate surfaces and straightened lamps and speakers.
-Pulled the clean clothes out of the dryer and loaded the washer to the brim.
-Swept the laundry floor, Swiffered, under the laundry sorter, shoe rack, wastebasket.
-Put my dry hanging clothes away.
-Cried about having too many clothes.
-Gathered the kids' outgrown shoes.
-Kissed the shiny new shower liner and wiped down the front bathroom sink and toilet.
-Paced back and forth in front of the espresso maker, pretty sure it will call my bluff. Fucker.
-Stacked to-dos on the counter, and wiped it down.
-Loaded 11 dishes into the dishwasher, made it hum.
-Wiped the rest of the kitchen. (Hope to bleach sinks, but new black shorts make me nervous.)
-Windexed kitchen windows inside and out.
-Removed five things from the front of the refrigerator and from the side.
-Rounded up feral candles that have amassed all over my house and told them to fuck off.
-Swept/Swiffered the kitchen.
-Straightened/fluffed living room cushions/pillows/blankets.
-Organized dining table after making proper (semi-proper) stacks.
-FINALLY went to the bathroom.
-Got a kidney transplant.
-Wiped down back bathroom sinks/toilets.
-Restocked t.p., Kleenex, napkins, etc.
Damn that coffee.
-Windex all mirrors
-Change all sheets/remake beds.
-Wipe down both computers/desks.
-Reckoning with my media card, steal a bunch of pics Reilly took with her bad-ass camera, and delete the shitty pictures of me.
-Prod kids to get ready for semi-formal event. Break nozzle on Quinn's hairspray.
-Update kids' iPods.
-Use hand held Dirt Devil on bath mats. (So much easier than washing and air drying for 40 days and 40 nights.)
-Make the kids do away with their belongings, since I cleaned out their entire room a few days ago.
-Make them wipe five areas each.
-Make sure all laundry is folded and put away before we leave.
-Oh man it would be great to clean out the refrigerator, maybe a cupboard or two. It all depends on whether my coffee soups up my engine or drops my transmission. It's always a roll of the dice.
-Huh, I think that's a wrap.
Is anyone feeling it yet? Ready? I never said it would be fun, I said it would be
POSSIBLE. Here's what's possible:
-Brew your coffee/tea/Red Bull/tequila/whatever.
-Crank up your tunes.
-Make every trip across the room/house purposeful. Grab some toys, a dish, straighten a rug, gather clothing, strangle whoever left them.
-Say out loud, "I am stronger than this laundry pile" 100 times.
-Throw all obvious shit into the wash den.
-Wipe counters and stove tops.
-Toss every scrap of junk mail or unnecessary crap your eyes see.
-Recruit some kiddos. They're not innocent here.
-Be honest with your bathrooms. Activate Ajax commitment!
-Wipe down your kitchen and bathroom fixtures.
-Consolidate colonies of overwhelming miscellaneous crap into one bin you can organize while sitting down later.
-It is not later. Don't sit yet.
-Spiff up your entryway, inside and out.
-Clean your toothbrush holders.
-Empty wastebaskets, bleach if necessary. (Tip: Do it in the bathtub, killing nine dirt bags with one er, stone.)
-Take a look around. If there's one thing tugging at the OCD you've inherited from me, text or email me. Whatever it is, it's possible. Break it down. Enlist the kids. Pull it all apart all over the house so there's no turning back. You can do it.
-Always toss, always clear surfaces, always straighten, and always wipe.
I'm so proud. And late. Okay let me know how it goes.
PS--We're about to have garage sale, and I highly recommend it. If you think it's possible, create some space wherein to chuck your pre-loved treasures. Cash for trash? It doesn't get better.
Put Single Ladies on loop, good luck!