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Browsing Tag: cleaning

Onward, with Jazz Hands

The kids have told me that my half-jokey-but-really-I-was-seriousness declaration of “Onward, with joy!” as our family motto is basically the un-coolest thing I have ever done in their entire lifetimes, so just imagine their (implied) glee when our friend David texted me the Latin translation of the phrase, and I thereafter made it a habit to walk around the house shouting, “Puram, et gaudium!” with such abandon at the people who live here you’d think I was trying to gain late access to Hogwarts. I am the coolest. My children have grown over this past year, as children do. Saoirse is now twelve (and a half, she’d want me to add), Quinlan turned ten in the middle of lockdown, and Cian is seven. In approximately three seconds they’ll all be off to college and I’m going to handle it just fine, I swear. But because we have two pre-teens in the house and a little brother who is heavily influenced by said preteens, David and I have rules they beg us to follow now. You already know about the PURAM…

Taking the Coat Off the Pajamas

When we were looking for a new house two years ago, I was very much hoping we’d find one with a proper mud room area. We were living in a typical 1960s-era split level, so when we entered the house, we walked right into our kitchen/dining area. There was no convenient place to store the uniform shoes/jackets/backpacks the kids used every day, and it’s embarrassing to say that we needed a spot. We’re all droppers: there’s not a natural neat-nick in this family, though we keep trying to pretend that gosh no, there are no clothes/shoes/bags all over the floor behind that closed door. We are IMMACULATE. (Remember this in a few sentences, okay?) When we saw this house, then–the one we’re living in now–I was super excited to discover that there was, in fact, a blessed, glorious, mud room. Actually, it wasn’t so much a room as a built-in shelving unit shoved against the wall opposite the garage door, but to me, it was paradise. The first thing I did after we moved in was…

I Mean It This Time

So, we’re putting the house on the market again, this time for good. David’s had to resort to using either the girls’ room or ours as his office, depending on which has fewer people in it at any given moment, so it’s time. We like our real estate agents, I’m not knocked up, I’m getting more than four hours of sleep at night. No time but the present. No excuses. And, if we sell the darned house before the weather gets warmer, I won’t have a chance to weep the tears of longing into a pool that won’t be ours for much longer. So, to that end: There is a desk chair in my living room. It was in the family room, then the girls’ room, and now has migrated there while we wait for the newly-cleaned carpets to dry. Carpets are disgusting. When that much dirt is pulled out of your carpets, it is entirely possible to hear your grandmother tsp-tsking you from heaven with the hand she’s not using to hold a vodka martini (what kind of liquor…