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.

Beth has posted my question in today’s Diary of a Playgroup Dropout, and if you guys have any advice about handling/managing/cutting/taming baby girl hair, go on over there and chip in. You don’t even have to have a baby girl–you can just have been a baby girl yourself at one time, or have known baby girls, or have heard something about difficult hair in general.

Also, if you know anything about a good child’s conditioner, please speak up. All I can find are ones that smell like gross fruity candy. I’d like one that smelled like regular baby shampoo, or even just like non-gross-fruity-candy.

I first found Beth’s column on ClubMom when Linda at Purple Is A Fruit linked to this column: “Would Somebody Shut Me Up Already?” and I’ve been reading every since. Good stuff.

Perhaps you are in the market for the kind of baby hat that will cause strangers to fall backwards into store shelves, scattering products and clutching their hearts?

You are in luck! Such a hat is on clearance at L. L. Bean: Take me to those ear hats and right quick. As seen on the Swistle Twins! Limited quantities available! Certain colors already sold out in certain sizes! Twins are modeling “Lake” (Edward) and “Pink Lilac” (Elizabeth).

Guess what I bought this weekend? A freezer! The act of blogging about it apparently filled me with fresh resolve. I went into the store, looked at the freezers, chose one, and it’ll be delivered Friday. It is an upright, even though those cost more to run, because I am not temperamentally suited to a chest freezer, and would always be “just this once” taking out the topmost items rather than the ones that were oldest. It’s a self-defrosting one, even though those too cost more to run, because I am at peace with myself the way I am, and I know I would never ever defrost the freezer, and eventually I would have one cubic foot of freezer space surrounded by many cubic feet of frost. I had been fretting about what size to choose, but the cost per year of running the three different sizes was basically the same (a $5/year difference between the smallest and the largest), and the largest was on sale for less than the cost of the medium-sized one, and so I bought the largest one. Yay, me! Before the baby is born I will be able to make all those yummy recipes you guys sent in.