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Archive for the ‘ Housekeeping ’ Category


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Hello people! I hope each and every one of you are having the fun filled, chocolate covered, prelude to a sugar induced coma kinda Valentine’s Day that you do so deserve!

NO! TRULY!

How old, unromantic and downright frumpy does it make me that I just want a new washer and dryer?

I know. Pathetic, right?

However, I am only moments away from being overcome by the odor of soiled linen. No, I don’t mean poop-soiled. Just soiled.

Our present set of laundry appliances is 12 years old… a combined age of 24. That’s older than my children.

I have treated them like gold and they are betraying me in a most unkind manner.  The washer only agitates with the bottom thingy and it appears the top thingy is now “just for looks”. Color me unimpressed.

It no longer spins fast enough to open a Downy ball. The ball is about half full when the load is done and as I retrieve it, fabric softener spills all over the “clean” clothes, making blue spots all over the stuff going into the dryer.

The dryer almost audibly laughs and mumbles something about not worrying since it won’t actually dry anything anyway. It’s not like it could make any kind of SET IN stain.

Then the dryer is started and the dogs run for cover. OK, me too. It squeaks, squeals and whines for about an hour on a medium sized load of clothes and then needs restarting.

Can you say “Energy Star”? Not at my house.

There is no longer any such thing as “laundry day” at Casa la HalfAsstic. It’s an hour by hour struggle that Never. Freakin. Ends. A constant, that rivals the Hundred Years War in monotony and probably lives lost as well.

Until now. Valentines Day will be my deliverance. SO HELP ME, GAWD!

So don’t preach to me about “romantic” until you can say what a lovely, freshly made bed I have and NOT have to avert your eyes from the damp areas and unsightly blue spots of fabric softener.


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Last night Keelan decided she was going to sleep downstairs on the rug in the living room.

No one knows why and this is good with us.

So she is lying there reading on the rug that was vacuumed two days ago and she announces that she is going to vacuum it if she is going to sleep down here.

I certainly am not going to complain.

So she goes to the broom closet that doubles as a coat closet in the foyer, (Have I ever mentioned that my house was designed by a man?), and stands there for a minute looking in.  She then reaches in and grabs something and pulls it out.

HalfAsstic Daughter: “Is this the vacuum?”

Me… dying laughing and a tad distressed at the question, “YES!” I mean how bad is THAT?  Of course it’s not the upstairs vacuum and it is also in there with a steam mop and carpet sweeper but, DAY-UM!  “IS THIS THE VACUUM?” is NOT something you want to hear your 18 year old daughter ask you.

So shoving the feelings of inadequate parenting aside, I ribbed her unmercifully for a moment or two and she giggled good naturedly.

She also picked up her cell phone immediately and began texting what had happened to J, her new boyfriend.  I told her not to let him know she can’t identify a vacuum cleaner and she promptly replied, “As long as HE knows what a vacuum looks like, we’re golden.”

I take it he will be doing the vacuuming in her daydreams of the future.


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These are all things that could happen some day… but, until they do it is in everyone’s best interest if they don’t , like, hold their breath or anything drastic like that.

Floors are an area of housekeeping that is an enigma for me.  I mean cleaning it has always been hit or miss at best.  I am quite careful of the dishes and keeping the kitchen clean.  My laundry is fastidious.    Toilets, clean enough to actually POOP in, (if you can imagine doing such a thing).   But the floors just seem like such a losing battle.  I mean, people actually WALK on those.  In their DIRTY SHOES.  And if anything gets dropped, nasty stuff or not, guess where it lands.  That’s right. Think about it, it has never made less sense to clean anything.

When the girls were babies, crawling around, I tied wet sponges to their little knees and hands and sent them on their way I made a better stab at vacuuming and sweeping and (yawn) mopping.  But as they grew older and developed immunity to plagues the ability to walk, their little faces shined, their hair gleamed and smelled of baby shampoo with a huge matching bow in it.  Their outfits were always washed, with no stains and perfectly pressed on the occasion it was needed.  Their little white lace-ups and sandals, always polished.  You’d never look at one of MY children and think that their mother was so ghetto that it would take a street sweeper to get her floors clean.  (Mither is going to DIE at that statement… maybe it’s a bit of an exaggeration.)

My dilemma now is somewhat different than it used to be.   I now have such “easy care” floors.  Ceramic tile in the kitchen, breakfast area, foyer and bathrooms and wood laminate through out the entire rest of the downstairs with the exception of my bedroom which is carpeted.   All the floors are… heh, “easy shine” .  But there is a buttload of them.  Did I say “buttload”?  Maybe I meant shitload… Hummm.  Well, for heaven’s sake!  Why am I second guessing myself?  I am just as certain of my housekeeping as I am of my grammar.

The hairy little dog doesn’t help things any.  She tends to produce great galloping dust bunnies that take on a life of thir own when turned loose in the house.  I guess they’re all domesticated, as far as I  know there aren’t any outside.

Trust me people, by the time they are entirely surrounded and caught, they usually have their own IQ’s.  It’s not unusual for me to have a showdown with them.

My particular variety sound a lot like Cheech and Chong…

Dust Bunny- “Hey, bitch!  You da maid?”

me- looking a bit scared, “…er, yeah?”

DB-“Woman, where you bean?”

me- “Uh, you know… dusting and… you know… there’s the shitty diapers and sheets and, and… WAIT A MINUTE!  You’re the dust bunny!  Why am I explaining myself to you?  GET OUT!  I’M GOING FOR THE BROOMY THING AND DUSTER PAN OTHER THING.  And I know you’re scared of those contraptions!”

DB- Clearly incapacitated by raucous laughter and drinking my beer, “Bitch, you don’ know how to use d’ose gizmo’s!  jes sit down and re-lax!”

me- With righteous indignation dripping out of my pours, yet sitting down just the same, “How DARE you!  I am the BIG CHEESE here buddy!  You need to get your shit together and get out!  YOU HEARD ME!  All your little dust bunny pets need to go too!”

DB- Taking a different tone now, “Now, come on chicka, settle down and  re-lax!  There’s a Boston Legal rerun coming on in just a few mee-nits and we can watch it…”

me- “Really?  Boston Legal?”

DB- “Suuuuure.  Ya know, chika… we could use some popcorn…”

She'd never make it as a maid.


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Kessa and Keelan were sitting at the breakfast table working on some scrap-booking project that has been in the works for days.  I had finished sweeping and was running my new Haan Steam Mop around on the tile, as I had just finished doing the living room.  They were talking kind of low and I wasn’t really paying any attention to them when I heard gales of laughter and Keelan saying, “Tell Mom!  Tell Mom!”  Kessa was having a hard time finding her voice she was laughing so hard but managed to shake her head vehemently.

Then, she managed to pull herself together enough to look at me and say, “The other day I took that thing, (referring to the steam mop), upstairs and tried to vacuum with it.”  She had the decency to look a bit embarrassed as her sister and I burst into fresh gales of laughter.  I told her that I didn’t know whether to be proud of her for voluntarily cleaning up there or disturbed by her lack of knowledge of the household cleaning appliances.

Oh, she said it did NOT vacuum well at all. 😉

Haan Steam Mop

I swear I'm not really dead.


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It just seems like it sometimes.

I am being threatened again, by family and… “loved” ones.  I am being told that if I don’t post again immediately, well, there will be consequences.

You don’t want to know.

So here’s what’s going on at chez Lopez now and for the past six months few days.

As you probably remember, there was another auspicious occasion to go along with Mother’s Day.  My birthday was the day before.  I promised pictures when I wasn’t feeling too lazy to work on it and since I am now properly motivated, here they are.

Here’s John and I at Olive Garden.  I gained 50 pounds that night, and it’s all in my neck… and boobs.  I SWEAR my neck doesn’t look that wide in real life.  My boobs, however… Yeah, that’s about it.

We had a wonderful time and I got all kinds of gifts and whatnots.  The whatnots were especially great, but what would you expect?  I know everyone has had tons of fun with their whatnot’s before and you know of what I speak.

Here I am with my adoring fans.  I know you thought I really didn’t have any so I am attempting to provide proof.  John took this and I have to admit that every night there is a fight to see who can get in my lap first when I sit down in the living room with John to watch TV and talk.  Please click on the picture and notice that there are three (3) animals ergonomically packed into the chair with me.  There is the one small dog slid in over there on the right trying not to be noticed, cause if I get feeling claustrophobic after a bit, or just plain HOT (and who wouldn’t), they all have to be dumped out.

Going   back a ways, the last time I was at World Market I found the neatest little pair of earrings.  They are freshwater pearl on a sterling silver wire.  And, they were ten bucks.  I LOVE them.  They are comfortable to sleep in and came with little, tiny, clear acrylic backs that keeps them from wriggling out of my ear.  Cause if something can wriggle off of me, it will.  Except the pets… I think we all can agree that I am doomed to be smothered by the pets.

Moving right along…

This tree, planted between my house and the neighbors is in bloom and it is the neatest thing!  The blooms, that are ALL OVER IT smell like lavender.  And I guess they look a tad like it too.

The leaves, however, look like marijuana.

Well, they DO.

I have named it the “Lavender Marijuana Tree”.  It sounds like a kind that should be very expensive.

And finally we come to my new Haan steam mop!  Ignore the little old lady in the background.  She continually throws food onto the floor for the dogs, (and they DO NOT clean it up well), and she’s the reason I need the steam mop in the first place….  Yeah.  That’s what I’m going to run with.

Anyway, Mither gave it to me because I had told her how badly I wanted one and there is genuinely a NEED for it.  She’s wonderful like that!

This bad boy does it all and with only a cup of water.  Of course it needs someone to run it around and before that happens the floors need all the pet hair and food scraps swept up off of it.  My chiropractor specifically told me not to sweep or mop for a couple of days.

What?  Chiropractor?  Krissa, you must lead an exciting life doing all kinds of adventurous things to have to go and see a chiropractor.

Yeah, well… OK, sure.

John went with me and I was glad he did so he could see and verify that I wasn’t just making up big fat fibs about how archaic the machinery looks in there.  Plus I felt like it wouldn’t hurt for him to hear all the cracking that happened when she “adjusted” me.

I feel  better now and go back again on Friday.  Henrietta, on the other hand is going on a diet.  She laughed when I told her that…  I don’t know why she thought I was joking…

It’s late now and I am tired and am about to go to bed.  John is snoring lightly in the chair beside me and he’s off work tomorrow.  So we will get all kinds of things done.  Maybe.

Free toes, everybody!


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