Clean Freak

I used to clean my house every day.  Seriously.  EVERY day.  I had a routine that included vacuuming, dusting, and cleaning the bathrooms.  I went through so much Windex my husband dubbed me the Windex Queen.  And it didn’t stop there.  My family had to endure countless times of searching for the glass they set down on the counter to refill because just as quickly as they set it down, I put it in the dishwasher.  On one occasion apparently my son fixed a bowl of cereal and when he turned his back to get a spoon, I dumped it in the sink and put the bowl away.  Truthfully, I never even knew I was doing it, it was just an automatic impulse.  My poor family – probably scarred them for life.

I LOVED to clean.  Not just clean, but organize.  I took great pride in the towels in the linen closet all lined up perfectly or the junk drawer being arranged by category.  Okay, I admit it, it is a little disturbing.

One of the best things about the chores of the day was the treasures I would find.  Laundry was the most financially rewarding.  Tom carried a money clip that he would often leave in his pocket and while it didn’t ever have anything larger than a few George’s, I stood fast in my belief of the motto “finders, keepers.”  A girl always needs a little cash for an emergency, albeit secret, chocolate craving, right?

Not all my cleaning discoveries were good ones.  When the kids were little, I learned the hard way that I needed to check their pockets before I washed.  It was during the early 90’s when some genius at Elmer’s decided glue should come in neon colors.  Stephen loved pockets and put his glue in a pair of white shorts.  (I know, why would I ever let a 5-year-old wear white?)  I spent the next year adjusting my shirts because they would get stuck to the hot pink splotches on my bra.

During that stage of life when the kids were little, I would find everything from Batman action figures, rocks, and Matchbox cars to crayons, pennies and Polly Pocket’s shoes in their pockets, their beds and what they thought were their hiding places.  One time I was cleaning and found a thimble in their secret playroom in the attic.  It wasn’t a real secret playroom – no Flowers in the Attic, I wasn’t that kind of mom, though a room with a lock was appealing at times (for me, for ME, not the kids!!) – but a playroom in the attic that could only be accessed from the secret door hidden inside Stephen’s closet.  Anyway, a THIMBLE.  I didn’t use them, but I had recently been to a fabric store with both of the kids.  Could it be that one of my kids had stolen the thimble?  And why?

Being the detective that I was (it’s one of the many Mom hats we wear) as we put them to bed, Tom and I told a story about a very bad little boy who stole things.  I’ll admit, we both assumed that it was Stephen because, after all, he LOVED his pockets and putting things in them.

We had barely made it through the story when Courtney burst out “I did it!  I stole the cup!  It was for Polly Pocket!”

The following day we made a family trip to the fabric store and I made her return the thimble and confess to the store clerk.  Unfortunately, the clerk thought I was crazy for making her return a 99 cent thimble, but trust me, Courtney has strayed as far away as possible from anything remotely related to sewing!

Back to the topic of cleaning house, I would like to note that it has changed through the years.  When Stephen got his driver’s license and started carrying a wallet, I can tell you that his wallet was the cleanest wallet in town because I must have washed it once a week.

But now that Tom only uses a debit card, my cleaning days are less fruitful.  The kids are gone, so I think the most profitable day in laundry was the day I found 11 cents in the bottom of the washer.

I cleaned house Thursday.  Now I’ve gone from every day to once a month.  And only because the cat hair floating across the floors is overwhelming.  And I guess you could say my finds are, er, different.  This time I found 2 orange ear plugs beneath a sea of cat hair under the bed, next to a stale frosted mini-wheat.

Times have changed?  I guess this is what life looks like when your nest is no longer full of children and has been replaced by cats.  Welcome to my world.

It’s Double-stuffed Oreo time for me!

For those of you who watch what you eat, here’s the final word on nutrition and health. It’s a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies!  Although I’m not so sure my hubby, Mr. Fit Forever, would agree with me…

1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

4. The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans..

5. The Germans drink a lot of beer and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

CONCLUSION: Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.

I miss my kids

It was April the last time I saw my beautiful Courtney, and my Stephen is in Houston.  While I’ll get to see Courtney at Thanksgiving in New York, it will most likely be Christmas before I see my son.

I miss my kids.  And it’s my fault.

When I was raising my kids I used to tell them that after high school they could go anywhere.  That was the time for them to see the world – there’s more to this life than Oklahoma.  I love the Sooner state, but I wanted them to have a choice – to see what was out there and then make the choice as to where they wanted to live.  If all else failed, they could always come home.

I admit, I was trying a little reverse psychology, and it didn’t work.  I thought if I told them to go, they would choose to stay.  I was wrong.

And now, as the holidays approach, I start getting sad.

That’s to be expected.  But I’ve also reached a place in my life where my kids are happy and they don’t really need me as much as they used to.  Whereas before I would get at LEAST one call a day from Courtney and a call or two a week from Stephen, now I’m lucky if Stephen has time for me once a month and Courtney does good to have time for me once a week.

I understand that they are living the lives I raised them to live, but I didn’t know it would hurt so much.  I LIKE my kids, I LOVE my kids, and I MISS my kids.  I spent 25 years being their mom, and now, they don’t need me.

So I’m baking.  I’m sending them all the goodies that they can’t get anywhere else.  I’m tempting them, enticing them, bribing them – whatever it takes – to remind them that there’s no place like home.  Caramel popcorn, fudge, party mix and puppy chow – all their favorites.

If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change anything.  I know they’re living the lives they were intended to live.  But I would suggest to other moms out there – make home the place that nothing can compete with.

Or, just drill it into their little minds that Mom always comes first.  Period.

Guilt works too.  That’s my next approach.

Stupid empty nest…

Homecoming

Thirty years ago tonight I was wearing a lovely purple dress and being escorted across the football field to be crowned Homecoming Queen.  I had my Farrah hair sufficiently plastered in place – if a breeze had blown, my Final Net Extra Hold hairspray wings would have given me liftoff.

I can honestly say that the title was never really useful.  There’s no box to check on a job application (gender M/F – homecoming queen Y/N?) and I’ve never had the occasion to wear the crown.  I am available for ribbon cutting ceremonies if anyone needs an old queen!

I’m a little nervous.  It’s been 3 decades since I’ve seen most of the people I went to school with and this evening I’m going to reconnect with them.  A lot has changed – besides my weight.  I have age spots, spider veins, a turkey neck and I’ll have to wear glasses to actually SEE them – then I’ll have to try to figure out WHO they are.  My memory is terrible.  I do good just to remember my own children’s names and don’t ask me how old I am unless you want to wait for me to do the math.

Nostalgia is starting to creep in.  Friends who have already left this world will be missed. I can feel the lump in my throat swelling.  I’m definitely going to need to wear water-proof mascara and stuff a wad of tissues in my purse.

Now to go get ready.  I’ve only got 2 hours and it will take me that long just to squeeze into my Spanx.

I’ll let you know how it goes.  Hm, what to wear?  Crown or no crown?

Chick-fil-A but not today

Because the mileage on our 2003 Honda was at the ‘I’ve been with you guys long enough, it’s just not fun anymore, I’d rather be driven by a wrinkle-free college student!’ phase and we’re saving money to buy the upcoming mid-life crisis sports car, in the meantime – we’re sharing my car. Or rather, Tom is hogging it and I’m without wheels. Unless you count the bicycle he bought me but it doesn’t have air conditioning, which means that I would perspirea lot. And since I don’t like to SWEAT, I’m not going anywhere until hell freezes over – literally.

Not that I went out much before – my 2008 Honda only has 18,000 miles on it. Last week we drove to Houston which meant that the odometer rolled to *gulp* 19,000 miles. Tom thinks I’m crazy but I’ve been saving those miles.

Go ahead and laugh. Tom blames it on my obsessive compulsion of not liking to have trash in the trash can. But bragging rights to whose car has the lowest number showing on the dashboard runs in my family.  It’s genetic.

Not having a car means no quick trips to the grocery store or a drive-thru when I’m craving something. Last week was my first experience of being transportation-less. I ate a ham sandwich every day for lunch – AND breakfast. I wouldn’t be surprised if I started oinking from an overload of pork consumption.

Usually when Tom comes home from work I ask him about his day and then I talk about the cats. Typical chit-chat for the empty-nester/cat people we’ve sadly become. But not last week! No, no, no! All I cared about was what he ate for lunch.

Everything was fine until Friday. Up until then, his lunch had consisted of salad and water, but on Friday I could smell it on his breath…HE WENT TO CHICK-FIL-A!

I LOVE CHICK-FIL-A. And now, I was jealous.

‘Oh, so that’s how it is – I get a dry sandwich every day and you get WAFFLE FRIES!’

After a few minutes of letting me pout he apologized to me. That’s right, he apologized. Mr. Fit Forever is Mr. Sensitive too.

And yes people, this is what life looks like when your kids fly the coop. We have nothing better to do than argue about Chick-fil-A nuggets and play dress up with the cats.

I posted this video a couple of months ago, but thought it appropriate to play again. And because I want you to really feel my pain, I thought it fitting to post it today, Sunday.

Cravings will have to wait until tomorrow, pouting may now commence…