The Suburban Life

First off, let me begin by saying that I wholeheartedly admire those who can sew.  I think it is a craft among true artisans and a God-given gift.  It requires patience, resilience, determination and vision. 

It also requires an ability to thread a sewing machine.

A few days ago I got an itch.  I wanted to sew something.  I needed to sew something.  Problem.  My sewing machine was nowhere to be found.  And then I remembered.  It has been almost seven years since I last used the blasted machine.  Seven years! 

Let me explain…

Back in 2002, in a feeble attempt at proving my finesse as a soon-to-be-mommy I came to the conclusion that I would don needle and thread and sew my baby’s cribset.  It had to be the hormones.  Never in my years of life, except for those fateful months, had I ever set my cap for homemade goodies.  It just wasn’t a part of me.  It never has been.  I buy my homegoods at Target just like a good American should. 

 But I set out to provide my new child with a homemade bumper pad and dust ruffle.  In truth, the whole thing was horrible.  I bought a sewing machine. Weird.  Being pregnant with my first child didn’t help matters.  Everytime I dropped a stitch or broke a needle I cried.  I was just sure that it was a glimpse of what was to come.  If I couldn’t handle sewing a freakin’ cribset…how was I going to handle being a mom?  My also-pregnant sister-in-law explained to me that nothing had to do with the other and I could finish this project.  So, I bucked up, drank that allowed one glass of wine <quickly> and after a lot of blood, sweat, tears and curse words, I accomplished my goal.  And much like giving birth, once I was physically holding that beautiful cribset in my hands, all the pain and suffering involved with crafting it slipped away.  I was so proud of myself and absolutely certain that I was going to sew all kinds of clothes for my new baby.   And…I never touched that machine again.

Until last week.  I ran over to my mom’s house and dug my sewing machine out of her hall closet and brought it home.  It was all shiny, clean and white with cool knobs, options and buttons.  I was so excited.  I could do this!  I’ve done it before.  I mean, come on, a cribset?  That’s not easy stuff, people.  And, you should have seen me.  I was so smug. 

I was all, “Alrighty, I’m just going to thread this machine up and throw something together.  I’ll practice on this burp cloth first.  And then maybe I’ll make a new runner for the table.  No probs.  Okay, I’m gonna go ahead and stick the thread right up here…run it through here…down through this little thingy-bob and through the needle.  There.  Easy peasy.  I’m ready to go.  Okay, push down on this little pedal.  Here…we…go…crap!  What the hell happened?  There’s so much freakin’ thread!  The  cloth is stuck in…the…feeder.  Oh. My. God.”  The aftermath of my many threading attempts looked like a crime scene.  There was thread and needles and more thread, a little of my own blood and bobbins all over the place.  It was awful. Flashbacks of 2002 began bombarding me. 

Neverthless, two long hours and many more tries later, I successfully threaded that dang machine.  And then…nothing.  It sits there on my counter, taunting me.  But for now,  I have no fabric, I’m almost out of thread and I just don’t have the oomph to start some project right now.  But I will.  Someday.

After all, I’ve already got a good headstart…the machine is already threaded. 

Love to all, Mindy

I seriously love me a clean house.  It absolutely makes my day to know that everything is in order, clean and right where it should be.  I’ve mentioned in the past that I’m horrible not-so-great-at all things outside…but housecleaning is a completely different story.

The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is clean my house.  The last thing I do before I go to bed at night is clean my house.  (I’m still trying to figure out how my house gets all dirty again after we all go to sleep.  Hmmm.)  Honestly, the main thing I do throughout the entire day is somehow clean my house.  In all actuality and in spite of a teensy bit of complaining, I really don’t mind.  I get a lot of satisfaction out of cleaning my house.  In fact, I kind of love it all.  I know…sick. 

Folding laundry?  Check.  Mopping floors?  Check.  (By the way, have you checked out the Mr. Clean Mop, yet?)  Dusting?  Check.  (Thank you microfiber cloths).  Vacuuming rugs?  Check.  Loading the dishwasher?  Super-check!  There is just something about sending a dirty plate into this magical little machine and trading it out for a sparkling clean plate.  Love it.

Unloading the frickin’ dishwasher?  No, thank you!  I ABSOLUTELY DETEST emptying out a clean dishwasher.  I approach this job with so much loathing that I actually have to talk myself into it.  Half the time some of the dishes aren’t even clean (now granted, if I spent more than $1.41 on my dishwasher detergent this may not be such a problem).   Oh, and this one really bugs me.  Sometimes one of the cups on the top shelf overturns, full of murky water, and has proceeded to spill down onto the bottom rack.  Or, if you’re really super lucky, your husband threw in a couple of really dirty plates he was hiding in the deep recesses of his desk while the wash cycle was still in process.  And now you’ve got some hardened cheese baked on to some of your dishes that no self-respecting scrubbie can even touch!  And don’t even get me started on putting away silverware…

I’m really trying to get a grip on this part of my daily duties.  Every time I hear that familiar whir of the dishwasher signifying it’s “time to unload” I visibly shiver.  I even tried to pass the job off to my hubby.  But that unleashed a whole Pandora’s box of new problems.  Miscellaneous dishes, bowls and tupperware were squeezed into any available space deep inside my cupboards.  That man worked under a system that I can’t, for the life of me, decipher!  So, I took the job back at least knowing I could actually find the cereal bowls with…well, the cereal bowls.

Well, I’m off to unload the dishwasher.  It’s been staring at me all day long, taunting me with clean dishes.  Besides, my daughter used the last fork to eat her Lucky Charms this morning.  I really have no other choice at this point. 

Love to all, Mindy

If you’ve never used a Magic Eraser than you are surely missing out.  These little babies are truly magical.  With a little water activation on the end of an unassuming little white sponge they become the housekeeper you’ve always wished for but never wanted to feel inferior to.  They work on everything.   They clean up dirt, grime, shoe scuffs, pencil, pen and crayon marks, blood, sweat, tears (don’t ask).  They wipe off moldings like nobody’s business, remove sticky residue off windows and mirrors and even clean up dirty tile.  They are so friggin’ comprehensive that I’m almost tempted to test the darn things out to see what they won’t clean.  But, that would be stupid.  Like I need more messes in my house.

So, have you tried one of these?

In case you’ve been living on Mars or the more female-friendly planet, Venus, this is a Magic Eraser Mop by Mr. Clean.   The bald stud-muffin came up with a giant magic eraser and stuck it on the end of a mop handle.  Genius.

Why didn’t I come up with this concept?  I could be writing from “The Hoity Toity Mansion-Living Life” instead of the suburbs.  Anyway.

According to the official Mr. Clean website, the mop is not recommended for hardwood flooring but  it works great on vinyl, stone and marble.  So, all of you castle-dwellers with your stone flooring and marble foyers are in great shape.   Being that I don’t live in a castle, or for that matter have a foyer, I use it on my vinyl flooring in the kitchen and bathroom and it works like a charm.

Let me tell you, this thing is crazy good.  In fact, it is so good that I kind of have a love/hate relationship with it.  I love the mop because it cleans the heck out of my floors.  I hate the mop because it demonstrates to me on an almost weekly basis how dirty my floors are (more specifically, how dirty my family is).  Gross.  In fact, make sure no one is around when you use it because you will suffer a bit of humiliation when you see the dirt accumulating on the mop head and pooling on your flooring.  Serious dirt, people.  And it doesn’t matter how often you clean, it’s always just as dirty.  

Which brings me to the one definite flaw of the Magic Eraser Mop.  It’s not so much a “mop” as it is a dirt-get-ridder-of-er.  It doesn’t absorb anything.  You will have to follow up with a regular mop to clean up the mess left behind by this dirt obliterator.  Now this little bit of information may lead you to ask, what’s the point if you still have to finish up with a regular mop?  Because.  After you use the Magic Eraser Mop you will quickly learn that the sponge on a stick you grew up with doesn’t pull it’s own weight.  It can’t hold a candle to the Magic Eraser in the cleaning department.  There is simply no comparison. 

So, run, get thee to Target and purchase one of these mops.  Your floors will thank you.  Your family will thank you.  Your friends will thank you.  And your white socks will definitely thank you.

Love to all, Mindy