From the comments on the Housecleaning post, I think we are clear on two things:

1) There is at least some interest in a Dig Ourselves Out project.
2) None of us want to involve The Fly Lady.

Hey, I’m with you: The Fly Lady has some good ideas, but she’s more of a “I want to suck away your entire life” cult than a cleaning program. So! Let’s get started. I should warn you that anyone who is saying, “Oh, yes, I am SUCH a slob, I only do a big thorough whole-house cleaning once a week” is going to be appalled by the level at which we are starting. This is more the “Vacuum? Yes, I think I vacuumed last fall. Or was it the fall before that?” level of cleaning.

Today’s project is to choose a cluttery problem area and spend 15 minutes cleaning it. I know, I know, Someone Else does “15-minute” cleaning projects, but 15 minutes just happens to be a nice amount of time to spend, and so we are going to adopt that number without worrying too much about where else we might have heard it.

The cluttery problem areas in my house are so legion, it was difficult to choose one, but I chose the kitchen table. Here is what the table looked like Before:

And here is a partial list of things I found while cleaning it:

• a sleeper with a broken zipper
• two strawberry-shaped drinking glasses full of pencil shavings
• a bag of bowls I bought at Target and hadn’t decided yet about keeping
• baby congratulations cards from when the twins were born (June 2005)
• a block of wood
• toy plastic lump of green peas
• paperwork for the truck
• 2 bins (plus 1 pile) of baby books (I read to the twins while they’re in their high chairs)
• 2 flashlights
• a metal pint-sized ice cream holder

And here is what the table looked like After:

Better, yes? It’s not totally clear, but theoretically people could eat at this table now, and you can see much more of the vinyl leaf-patterned tablecloth I put on there in the fall of 2005. The baby cards are still there, but going through those is outside the scope of a 15-minute project window. I’ve reduced the baby books to one bin, and put the others in the babies’ room, to be rotated when I can’t stand even one more repetition of the ones on the table.

Now it is your turn! Go forth, and conquer a patch of clutter! Maybe you don’t have anything as bad as at my house, but you could tackle a pile of old mail, or a junk drawer, and if necessary reduce the time to 10 minutes. Go at your own pace, people.

I am not having a good housekeeping kind of morning. William and I made cookies, and they were supposed to be Choc-Oat Chip, but when I went to get out the baking cocoa, there were only scraps in the bottom of the container. Paul went to the grocery store last, so I asked him about the baking cocoa that had been on the list. He said, “Oh, yeah. I didn’t know what baking cocoa was.” O. Kay. No, don’t ask a clerk, or call me on your cell phone, or look in the baking aisle and see if anything is labeled “baking cocoa”–please, don’t trouble yourself.

So William and I made Oat Chip, no Choc. And the cookies came out all flat and greasy-looking, which is mystifying to me because I can be depended on to make cookies successfully: it is very unusual for me to be shaking my head at a cookie sheet and thinking, “What has occurred here?” They taste good, but scraping them off the cookie sheet was like trying to remove dried melted slug from the sidewalk, not that I have ever attempted such a thing, so I suppose what I mean is that it was like I would imagine such a task to be like, not that I have spent much time imagining it, either.

While the second batch was in the oven, the dryer buzzer buzzed. I went down to get a load of clothes, and discovered that they had purple marks all over them from some mystery source. I got increasingly frantic and tense as I took each item of baby clothing out of the basket (the rugby shirt I bought Edward yesterday, which he hasn’t even worn yet; Elizabeth’s favorite kitty shirt; the blue shirt with white sleeves I never know if I should put it in with whites or with colors), seeing which had been possibly ruined and wondering why why WHY?

I assumed that at some point I would discover the culprit item that had stained everything, and that it would be an item that would allow me to put the blame for this disaster firmly on some other member of my household–ideally Paul, who could be berated and made to feel my pain, rather than one of the children, who would have to be patiently instructed and educated. But nothing ever turned up: I put away the whole load of clothes, and there was no crayon, no skein of embroidery floss, no marker, nothing. And now my mind turns to the load of white laundry currently in the dryer. Oh, no no no no no.

Also, I need a good reliable recipe for oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies. Anyone got one? Email to swistle at gmail dot com, and maybe I’ll post them and we can have a little bake-off.

Semi-Desperate Housewife tagged me for my very first meme! I tag Aoife of Farrago.

It’s called “The ABCs of Homemaking.” Let’s not dwell on whether that’s the kind of thing we homemakers find stimulating, let’s just answer the questions.

Aprons- Y/N? No. I do own several: a vintage grandmotherly half-apron with red rickrack, a large blue striped canvas one, a plain white one. But I never wear them, I just allow them to take up valuable cupboard space.

Baking- Favorite thing to bake? Cookies. Bars.

Clothesline- Y/N? As if.

Donuts- Ever made them? We made them a few times when I was a child, but I’ve never made them myself as an adult. I seem to remember they weren’t very good. Or maybe they were good, but too much trouble.

Everyday- One homemaking thing you do every day? Think about how I ought to clean more.

Freezer- Do you have a separate deep freezer? As of this coming Wednesday, yes!

Garbage Disposal- Y/N? No, and I want one so badly, because Paul can’t seem to remember that we don’t have one, and is always trying to stuff bits of raw chicken, vegetable trimmings, etc., down our sink. We have our own compost heap in the u-bend.

Handbook- Y/N? What? Like a cleaning manual I use? No.

Ironing- Love it or hate it? Iron is a vitamin supplement and a useful building material, that’s ALL. I do own an iron, given to me by my mother. It lives in its box, and I have removed it twice: once when we had a houseguest who needed one, and once when Paul had an interview and his shirt looked rumply.

Junk Drawer- Where is it? Kitchen, the smallest drawer. Also, on every flat surface in the entire house.

Kitchen- Design and decorating? We have a crappy 1960s kitchen with tons of floor space and about 2 square feet of counter space. The counters are that awful 1960s gold-flecked stuff, though, so I guess the less of it the better. The cabinets were dark pine, and since the kitchen is dark anyway, it was way too dark; when we moved in I painted the cabinet doors and drawer fronts glossy white. It looks…weird. But it’s lighter. I always mean to repaint them a better (but still light) color, but I never get around to it. The walls are the same “apartment cream” as the rest of the upstairs. I keep meaning to repaint that, too.

Love- What is your favorite part of homemaking? I guess I like baking best.

Mop- Y/N? Um. Yes! Oh, yes. Clearly I mop. Who wouldn’t? I mean, it would be really bad not to. So obviously I do.

Nylons- Wash by hand or in the washer? On the very few occasions I wear them, I handwash them and fling them over the shower curtain rod to dry.

Oven- Do you use the window or open it to check? Look through the window, then open it. Because I never learn. It seems like it would work to look through the window.

Pizza- What do you put on yours? Those yellow hot peppers; black olives; sausage; pepperoni; cheese; sauce. And I mean that Paul does it, since he’s the one who makes pizza. But those are the toppings I request.

Quiet- What do you do during the day when you get a quiet moment? Computer, or read a book.

Recipe card box- Y/N? Yes. Also books.

Style of house- It’s a raised ranch. When we moved in, the basement was unfinished, but my dad built two bedrooms and a family room down there after the twins were born, and now we call it “the downstairs.”

Tablecloths and napkins- Y/N? Assuming you could see the surface of the kitchen table under the clutter (and that would not be a safe assumption to make), you would see a leaf-patterned vinyl tablecloth. You might think I was just a little late changing it from this past fall, but actually it is there from the fall of 2005. We usually use paper towels instead of napkins.

Under the kitchen sink- Dish soap, hand soap, small appliances (see “counter space, lack of”), trash bags.

Vacuum- How many times a week? Per WEEK? I’m not able to answer in those terms.

Wash- How many loads do you do a week? An endless number. ENDLESS. Well, probably six or seven. I’m not sure. I’ll try to do better about keeping track for the next meme.

Xs- Do you keep a list of things to do and cross them off? Sometimes. And we have a white board in the kitchen for tasks that we don’t want to forget (like getting the oil changed).

Yard- Who does what? Paul does anything that gets done. Frankly, our yard is a little embarrassing.

ZZZs- What is your last homemaking task for the day? Doing anything that will make me feel crazy if I see it not-done first thing in the morning. Or meaning to.

This is the very thing I was looking for! I know I said I was looking for plastic heart-shaped bowls, but this is what I meant. I found these Valentine’s Day compartment plates at Target today for 75% off–so, $1 each. Can you just imagine a little row of heart-shaped toasts in the bottom compartment, and conversation hearts in the heart-shaped compartment, and then some other things I’ll think of later in the other compartments? Won’t it be great?

I was dithering in the store because I needed to buy five, of course, but I was also thinking, “…or do I need six?” This “…or do I need n+1?” problem is something I’m looking forward to resolving someday, but it is not yet resolved, despite the fact that I asked Paul this weekend if we could have just one more teeny baby after this one and he specifically said no. After all, he also said no to any more than four, and look where we are now. These things happen.

So anyway, I didn’t want to buy five plates and then later on need to toss them all and start over because we were one plate short. My mom came up with the brilliant plan of buying SEVEN plates: that’s enough for the whole family to eat from, if Paul and I want to eat out of little plastic compartments, and then those two extras double as two spare plates for “these things happen.” If any thing did happen, I could buy two new, different plates for Paul and me, so Paul and I would match and the kids would all match each other, and we’d still have one extra kid plate in case of anything ELSE happening. Paul and I aren’t going to eat off those compartment plates anyway and I think we all know it.

Kelsey was wondering if I get an email when someone comments, and yes! I do! It is great, because even if someone is going through the archives and wants to comment or ask a question on something from way long ago, I get an email that the new comment is there. Since otherwise I would spend hours a day combing obsessively through old posts (“Did anyone comment on this one? How about now? How about NOW?”), this is a service that is keeping me off psychiatric medication. Thanks, Blogger!

You know what I don’t get, and I wish I did? Email addresses. I mean, I wish it only if you volunteered it as you were commenting, I don’t mean that I wish I could spy on your personal information (although if I could, I would totally find out if you had any ice cream in your freezer, because we just ran out…somehow). Sometimes someone asks a question, and as we’ve established, it’s not common or practical for people to go running back to check the comment sections of every blog they’ve commented on just in case the blogger left a reply. Several people have recommended I switch to a new thingie for comments, but sigh flop groan. I can’t face it. It’s so easy to go with Blogger’s, even though it fails me in this regard. If you ever have a question that you want to make sure you get an answer to, but you also think other people would be interested in the question/answer, you could leave a comment and also email me at swistle at gmail dot com. Then I’d answer you personally from my email address, and also answer in the comment section. Gee, this is a great post so far, as mesmerizing as going over the minutes of last week’s meeting.

Hey, you know what I bought at 50% off at Target? Heart-shaped paper plates, for next year’s Valentine’s breakfast of heart-cookie-cuttered toast with red jam (NOT pancakes). I’d wanted to find heart-shaped plastic bowls, but the only heart-shaped bowls were large and ceramic, like candy dishes. I’ll keep an eye out, but for now the plates are good. I got paper napkins, too, with a heart pattern.

Remember my new freezer, that was supposed to be delivered Friday and keep me from running out of ice cream? It was not delivered Friday. Our delivery window was 8:30-10:30, and at 12:50 they called to say that they weren’t doing any deliveries that day because the weather had kept a manufacturer’s truck from getting to them with the appliances. Well, that’s a totally understandable reason. And are they asking me to believe that they didn’t realize until midday Friday that they would not be doing any deliveries? I think they could have called a little sooner, like before I spent all morning waiting anxiously, not daring to pee in case the doorbell rang, cooped up with three children because I couldn’t leave the house. But as my dad pointed out, at least I didn’t have to take a day off work to wait and then have this happen. Indeed, that would have been way more annoying. I’m still crabby about the ice cream, though.

I know it was very recently that I was claiming to be satisfied with my current policy of not doing much housework. The problem is that writing it out like that made me think more about it, and when I thought more about it I started noticing it more, and when I started noticing it more I started feeling a little frantic under the weight of all this clutter and dirt.

And so I suppose what I am saying is that I am going to try to dig myself out. I suppose I am saying that I am intending to do a little housework after all. This is a terrible drag. Those of you who already keep your houses clean will not be impressed with my meager, flailing efforts, and those of you who don’t keep your houses clean will feel betrayed by my apparent attempt to cross to the other side. But fear not, allies! My intention is not to turn this house into a sparkling masterpiece, or to spend hours (or even “hour”) a day working on keeping it that way. My intention is to try to beat back the actual health and fire hazards, and then do the minimum necessary to maintain those safety levels.

If anyone else would like to join me, perhaps we could form a Dig Ourselves Out brigade. And perhaps those who are already living in cleanliness could contribute tips and motivating thoughts.

I’m starting with the few things I remember from a brief fling I had with The Fly Lady a few years ago. I still appreciate many of her main tenets, but at the time I got tired of the motivational seminar tone, and also of what I perceived to be an ever-increasing level of commitment to cleanliness: first it’s “You can do this in just 15 minutes a day!” and before you know it it’s 15 minutes of this plus 15 minutes of that plus 15 minutes of this plus 15 minutes of that plus 15 minutes of…and so on.

Here are some of the things she said that I remember, and still like:

1) It’s better to do a little of something than none of it. That is, a single wet paper towel swiped across the counter is better than not cleaning the counter at all because you don’t have time to do it perfectly and completely.

2) Even just 15 minutes of work a day will make a significant difference over time.

3) If it oppresses you, toss it out.

4) Don’t start a load of laundry if you don’t have time to see it all the way through to the bitter end.

5) Don’t try to dig yourself out all at once.

Today I spent a little time cleaning some of the edges of the kitchen. It bothers me the way dirt and crumbs and fuzz accumulate on the floor under the little ledges of the cabinets and stove and refrigerator, and so I spritzed and wiped, spritzed and wiped, until all the muddy fuzz was gone. I was surprised at how much nicer the entire kitchen looked to me when this small task was done. I am a housecleaning whirlwind! Gather ’round and admire my tiny progress!

Thanks to Erica at All Dressed Up for the news about this peanut butter recall. Apparently the CDC thinks it’s the source of an outbreak of salmonella poisoning. Hey, that’s all I need is a new food to get freaked about. I already have to wash the whole kitchen down with bleach if I glance at a package of raw chicken.

I don’t know why, every Valentine’s Day morning, I think it’s a good idea to make heart-shaped pancakes. It seems like such a loving and maternal and “simple pleasures” thing to do, but actually pancakes are a hassle and a mess. As soon as I get started, I remember this.

Rob and William come into the kitchen and they’re completely in my way every time I turn around, and the presence of hot pans and hot syrup is making me jittery with visions of emergency-room burns and permanent scarring, and they keep asking me questions when I’m distracted and trying to keep up with the bubbling pancakes and boiling syrup, and so I start speaking sharply to them and before long they’ve stopped their happy talking, and not long after that they go out into the living room, and there I am in the kitchen by myself, having ruined another potentially pleasant childhood memory. Why would I speak lovingly to them on Valentine’s Day, when the real point of Valentine’s Day is PERFECTLY-MADE PANCAKES?

There are drips of batter everywhere, and everything gets sticky with syrup, and meanwhile the children are asking for more and I’m standing there frustrated and starving with half a bowl of batter still left to pour. The twins are inexplicably crying and refusing to eat their pancakes, and their crying seems so ungrateful when I’m working so hard and getting so frustrated.

By the time all the pancakes are made, the children are done eating and I eat a couple of pancakes standing up at the counter before starting right in on the surprisingly large pile of dishes, feeling like the Valentine’s Day Martyr, spreading her message of what true love is about: sacrifice and resentment, and loving gestures delivered with sharp words and a crabby attitude.

And as I’ve said, I do this every year. It would be more in my style of mothering to buy some pretty heart-shaped plastic bowls and serve breakfast cereal in them, and have heart-shaped paper napkins too, and we would all talk happily about what a fun surprise that was and whether they could use the bowls again later for soup, and I would say YES! and it would be a great treat. So why do I keep doing the pancakes? It doesn’t matter how often I remind myself that we are all different kinds of mothers and we all have different strengths, I keep trying to work with other mothers’ strengths: I try to be the one who whips up a picturesque and entertaining breakfast, when my strength is shopping for fun stuff. Next year, I’m buying the bowls.

Anyway.

Yesterday we talked about Valentine’s Day Past, and today as promised we will talk about Valentine’s Day Present. What are your plans? Anyone going on a hot date? Anyone staying in and getting a pizza? Anyone turning into a Kitchen Bitch over stupid pancakes?

It does us no good to pretend that Valentine’s Day is not tomorrow: we all know that it is, so we might as well talk about it. I’ve heard complaints that Valentine’s Day is a “Hallmark holiday,” but Valentine’s Day got started in the Middle Ages, so that complaint is right out. Sweetest Day and Boss’s Day, though, I’m totally with you.

My best Valentine’s Days have been when I was single. I’d get together with a friend or two, and we’d pretend to be sad and depressed while we watched romantic movies, ordered pizza, and ate out of a large heart-shaped box of chocolates. Fun. Once–and this was the best of all–I didn’t have a boyfriend, but I got a heart-shaped balloon from a secret admirer, and I never did find out who sent it. Secret admirer + movies/pizza/chocolate = Best Valentine’s Day Ever.

The Valentine’s Days with a boyfriend or husband have always been letdowns. There was the high school boyfriend who gave me a red plush teddy bear with “I Love You Beary Much” on the tummy. The college boyfriend who gave me a bracelet from a gumball machine. The husband who said on Valentine’s Day afternoon, “Oh, uh….hey. Do we do Valentine’s Day?”

Nevertheless, I am fond of the holiday. I like heart-shaped boxes and the chocolates inside them, and I like pretty Valentine’s Day cards, and I liked the card exchange when I was in elementary school, and now I like helping Rob and William with their card exchanges. One of my friends sent me a Valentine’s Day card a couple of years ago, and I thought that was a nice thing to do and so now we exchange them each year, and I do the same with my other favorite friend.

Tell me about your Valentine’s Day history. Best? Worst? Tomorrow I plan to ask you about THIS Valentine’s Day and what your plans are, but for today let’s talk about the past.