Sometimes, I Trip

I am going to take this opportunity to say that this past weekend, I was not the nicest person in the world. I tried, really I did. But due to circumstances that were a little bit out of my control, the niceness success rate was not quite 100%. It wasn't that I didn't try to suck it up and put on a smile, it's just that it all seemed so, well, pointless and unpleasant. Like trying to convince yourself that eating the fat free salad dressing isn't really that bad and that the bitter metallic taste isn't really that noticeable even though you know damn well that the full fat salad dressing isn't going to kill you, so what's the point of pretending that you like the fat free kind?

Okay, that was random.

So like I said, there isn't just one reason for my edginess, but rather a combination, an amalgamation if you will, of many different types of sticks to my eye.

Maybe it's because my week started out with a sick kid. Like, a freakishly-high-fever-three-nights-in-a-row, oh-look-she-has-pneumonia, now-she's-home-from-school-for-4 1/2-days sick kid.

Maybe it's because after being loyal to the same piano teacher for the past nine years and always delivering her check at the first lesson of the month, she was unwilling to compromise with me regarding her cancellation policy, even though I had a kid at home with a 104 fever.

Maybe it's because Doug got a chest cold and I ended up with the same chest cold and strep throat, just in time for the weekend.

Maybe it's because throughout the entire weekend, people still wanted me to make food for them (without touching it too much or coughing on it) and the only meal that was considered take-out was the single-serving cheese pizza that I bought for Zoe while we waited for my prescription at Target.

Maybe it's because my attempt at taking a ten-minute nap on Saturday before I drove Zoe to a birthday party was interrupted by a boy saying "Hey there's something wrong with my Xbox Live account, can you come fix it before you leave?"

After quickly glancing at the back of my throat while sitting at a stoplight and seeing what appeared to be a couple red ping pong balls with white polka dots, I decided that a visit to urgent care on my way home from the birthday party would be a good idea. Zoe thought that this was the perfect time to embark on a pain-in-the-ass marathon, touching everything in sight, failing to follow even the simplest directions, begging for 22,000 items in Target, and giving me a look that says "I'm going to do whatever the hell I want to do because you probably won't beat me in public." This super-pleasant two hours, followed up with a difficult bedtime, might have had something to do with my mood on Saturday evening.

It could even be that after waking up with a fever on Sunday morning, I fed the dog, got the paper, emptied the dishwasher, started laundry and made chili...while the rest of my family slept in.

Maybe it's because there's an elaborate board game that's been sitting out, taking up the entire surface of our wet bar, since November, and even though I've asked, on numerous occasions, that it be picked up and put away, it has continued to sit there. So when the oldest kid finds me coughing and sprawled out on my bed and says "Hey, should I pick that game up today?" and I say something like well, gee, I've only been asking for it to be picked up for the last month or so, so yes, picking it up today might be a good idea and then he says "Wow, sorry I asked. What's the big deal," it may not put me in the best frame of mind and/or make me leap around the room in jubilation.

Or maybe it's because when I quietly snuck upstairs in an attempt to take a nap on Sunday afternoon (between loads of laundry), I was immediately woke up with the pressing question of "Hey mom, can I have a juice box?"

So like I said before, I know there were times this weekend that I wasn't the nicest person and honestly, all I can say is...oops.

The Mom Cave

For years now, the concept of a man cave has been increasing in popularity. These man caves range from the extravagant (including such items as leather recliners, a pool table, humidor, a urinal in the bathroom, multiple flat screen TV's and, for the truly tasteless, a stripper pole or two) to barely covering the basics (a moldy couch thrown in an extra garage stall, a dorm fridge, a shrub outside the garage, a TV with rabbit ears, and a stripper pole). Either way, a man's need is fulfilled, and that need is to get the hell away from everyone and enjoy some solitude.

I recently came across an article about a designer that is trying to introduce the concept of a mom cave. After all, if guys can have a getaway on their own property, it seems only fair that a mom should be able to say adios to her family once in a while and have access to the same kind of space. A space that "isn't as extravagant as a man cave," but is decorated her way and is used "for everything a woman loves, like knitting, doing crafts, writing letters, or even paying bills."

Umm...what? The fuck?

So let me get this straight -- a guy gets to watch some football from his leather Barcalounger with one hand wrapped around a cold beer and the other hand plunged into a bag of Funyuns, and I get to sequester myself in a craft room, pay the electric bill and knit some booties? Who is the crazy bitch that came up with this concept?

Now I don't know about you, but if this is the extent of what a mom cave should be then I'm pretty sure the idea will die an expedited death. So in order to prevent that from happening, I'm going to take matters into my own hands and come up with a list of things that a mom cave should actually include.

• A guard dog (that can't be bribed with treats) sitting outside the door, trained to bark and growl at everyone except: A) me; B) those that have been invited by me; and C) anyone delivering booze.
• Soundproof walls.
• A large TV, but 3D is not necessary because the glasses are ugly.
• A stocked Blu Ray DVD library. Yes to Apatow, the Cohen's and Zombieland. No to anything that is considered a chick flick, rom com or involves Julia Roberts.
• A massage chair, but not the leather kind found at Brookstone that all the teenagers sit in. I want the one that comes with face papers and includes someone with strong thumbs that is only capable of massaging for an hour or more.
• A bar, complete with a bartender that can't say anything except "You're welcome" and "Would you like a refill?"
• Half of the floor should be sand, like the white sand found in the Caribbean. And it should be heated so that my bare feet don't get cold.
• Furniture that is incapable of accumulating dust.
• An absence of all things that could be considered "collectible."
• A weekly cleaning lady.
• An automatically replenishing supply of kettle chips, Skittles and Twizzlers.
• A self-cleaning bathroom. Or actually, if it is only me using the bathroom, then it won't need to be cleaned.
• A closet that contains already completed science projects.
• A phone that only makes outgoing calls.
• Twice a month, someone manages to sneak past the guard dog and says "It's time for your facial and pedicure."

Now, I realize that some of these items may seem extravagant, but keep in mind that I'm willing to compromise. Like the massage chair -- I guess I'd be happy with half-an-hour. And it's not like I'd automatically expect people to understand my need for a mom cave and the indulgent items it contains. I'd explain it to them by hanging this sign on the door, right above where the guard dog sits:

Spreading it Around

Like I've mentioned before, I don't make chore charts for our kids. You'd think that the genuine happiness I derive from being organized and my love of making lists would result in an affection for chore charts, but that would be wrong. Sitting down to make a chore chart would just be another chore, and the time spent A) creating the chart; B) color-coding the thing; C) coming up with chores (I know there are plenty of chores to choose from, but I need to think of ones that I don't care how they're done because after all, it's the kids doing them, not me) and then D) making sure that everyone was doing what they are supposed to, is time that I could have just done the stupid chores myself. In addition, I'm able to complete the chores nag-free, do a much better job and be done in a fraction of the time that it would have taken them, only letting out an occasional sigh or glare of frustration because no one is helping me.

Oh the joys of being a martyr.

Yesterday was one of those days that I never stopped moving and everyone was smart enough to pretty much just stay out of my way. Bathrooms were de-gunked, floors were vacuumed, baseboards were scrubbed and cobwebs that had not even formed yet were abolished. In addition, because I was washing every piece of bedding in the house, I made about 1,832 trips up and down the stairs while hauling comforters, pillows, blankets and sheets.

Because I didn't want to make trip #1,833, I asked Zach to bring one last blanket up to his room. It was fresh from the dryer, folded, and had been placed right next to him on the couch with the simple request of "please go put this in your room."

"Oh. Kay." was the reply, but with a very detectable hint of gruntish caveman accent. And then not only did he not spring to his feet, grab the blanket and bound up the stairs two at a time with a sure mom, and thanks for doing all that laundry, but he sat there, staring at his iPhone, continuing on his quest to make a permanent butt dent in the couch cushion.

Three hours later, the blanket was still sitting on the couch untouched, unless you want to count the fact that it had been briefly used for his feet. I think what happened next included hissed phrases like "thanks a lot for a whole bunch of nothing" and "oh that's okay, it's not like I've been doing anything for you today, don't feel like you need to do something to help me out" as I snatched the blanket off the couch and threw it on his bed, resisting the urge to sneeze on it and/or wipe the dog's butt with it.

Zoe, however, was more than happy to help out. While I was in her room (which was completely picked up) I found a white microfiber rag on the floor. When I asked her what it was for, she said "I saw you cleaning, so I thought I'd help out by dusting all the tables and door knobs." Yay for the creation of one helpful kid! This is completely kick ass! Soon enough she'll be scrubbing soap scum, washing the hardwood floors and...wait a second... is that orange trim on that microfiber rag? Zoe, where did you find that rag?

"It was on that bench, by the front door. It works really good, after I got the little pieces of grass off of it. You can have it now, though, cuz I did all the tables and stuff."

Our new puppy, Danger, has the cutest paws -- kind of chunky and covered in wispy curls of cream colored dog hair. Since Danger is in turbo house training mode, he goes outside, on average, 382 times a day. Sometimes he goes out, does his business, and then heads right back in. Most of the time, though, the business is preceded and followed up by mad dashes back and forth through the wet grass and leaves, occasionally running through the spot where he just peed, sufficiently coating his cute paws with not-so-cute goo. Also, because we have a boy dog, there is the um, issue.

Let's see, how can I put this... You know how when you turn a faucet off there's often one last drop of water stuck to the end? And then if you were to touch the end of the faucet (often not intentionally) that small drop of water ends up on your hand? Well, Danger is the owner of a faucet. Except his faucet also has a little tuft of hair on the end.

Because I hate having wet, grass-covered puppy paws running through the house, and because I really don't enjoy having dog pee on my hands, I keep a microfiber rag by the front door for paw and faucet wiping purposes. An orange-trimmed, white microfiber rag.

And now, in addition to paw and faucet wiping, I can add table and door knob cleaning to that list.

Literary Cleaning

Although my need to clean could often be categorized as obsessive, anal, or sometimes even OCD freakish oh my fucking hell Jody can you just leave the candy wrapper on the table for four seconds without spazzing out, there are some things that I do not do on a regular basis:

1. Wash windows. There are people with really big ladders and really cool squeegees that do a much better job in a shorter amount of time for not that much money. And besides, within minutes after I get the windows washed, it either A) rains, or B) a bird with really good aim flies by and, well, you can probably figure out the rest.
2. Move heavy furniture just so that I can vacuum six pieces of fuzz from underneath. Now, if a kid were to spill an entire box of Nerds underneath a dresser and the vacuuming was rewarded with the satisfying sound of thwack thhhckckc thwick, well, in that case I would voluntarily be moving heavy furniture.
3. Clean behind the refrigerator every month because that seems insane.
4. Shampoo the carpet three times a year. Instead, we take our shoes off, don't smoke, and refrain from spilling giant plates of sauce-based foods in the family room.
5. Dust each and every book on the bookshelves.

According to statistics, not only does the average adult read only four books a year but in addition, one in four adults reads zero books. And if you're wondering where our family falls in this statistic, the average would be around 25, since Doug manages to get through at least 50 books a year and I manage to find the plot lines and identify the antagonist in exactly zero. And because Doug isn't a guy that goes to the library and just recently switched over to e-readers, we have a lot of books. Like, multiple shelves of books. And yes, these shelves are confined to one room that isn't in a high-traffic area, but nonetheless, they still get dusty.

Since we have recently become a petless household (except for Zoe's goldfish, but it doesn't shed), I have been on a mission to eradicate every corner and crevice of this house of all dust, lint and traces of dog hair. So I figured since I'm spending so much time with dust rags, cans of Pledge and Swiffer cloths, I might as well tackle the bookshelves while I'm already sneezing.

Luckily for me, Real Simple included a short article in it's September issue called "A Big Bookcase: Decluttered and Dusted in 15 Minutes or Less" and I thought holy shit! Really? A big bookcase dusted in 15 minutes? Or less? That's fantastic! These must be some amazing tips! Turns out, the article should have been located in the fiction section, subsection humor.

Minute 1: Put on an apron with pockets and lay an old sheet around the base of the bookcase.

I do not own an apron, let alone an apron with pockets. Besides, I thought I was going to be cleaning a bookshelf, not baking a cake. And because of my need to get rid of things I do not use (example: old sheets), I do not own an old sheet.

Minute 2: Scan your books. If you see any you've been meaning to get rid of, toss them in a pile for donation.

Upon scanning, I notice that there are several books that I wouldn't mind getting rid of, if I also wanted a certain someone named Doug to have grounds for divorce. But I also came across an organization book and temporarily got distracted.

Minute 3: Load your apron pockets with a few Swiffer sheets and a dozen silica-gel packets. Use an extendable duster and swipe the top of the shelf.

Again, no apron pockets to load and what the hell do they mean "Minute 3?" I was supposed to be able to scan a big bookcase worth of books in one minute? It took me closer to 28 minutes but at least I got some great ideas about organizing a pantry. Oh, and the silica-gel packets -- are they talking about those little paper packets that are printed "DO NOT EAT" that come in shoe boxes that I throw away within seconds of taking the shoes out of the box? This article is getting weirder by the word.

Minutes 4 to 5. Use a hair dryer to blow dust off the tops and spines of books, working your way from the top to the bottom of the bookcase.

This seems like a really great idea, but where do they think all that dust is going to end up? I'll tell you where: 50% of it ended up coming to rest on the wood blinds, which are even less fun to clean than the bookshelf, and the other 50% ended up lodged in my nostrils.

Minutes 6 to 9: Pull books halfway out, four or five at a time, and dust behind the books with a Swiffer sheet.

Realistically, this would happen during minutes 38 to 57, but at this point who's keeping track.

Minutes 10 to 12: Push books all the way back and use a Swiffer sheet to clean the area in front.

OK, even though I don't dust the entire bookshelf every week, I do manage to dust the area in front of the books every few days without hating the chore. But now there's so much crap in the air from their moronic hairdryer suggestion that my eyes are watering heavily and I can't stop sneezing. Now I hate this chore.

Minute 13: Wipe the frame of the bookcase with a Swiffer sheet or duster.

I'm now using the Swiffer sheet to blow my nose.

Minute 14: Reposition books a couple of inches from the edge of each shelf. Toss a few silica-gel packets behind each row.

I'm finally done sneezing and am seriously contemplating opening a beer. But first I think I'll go shoe shopping in order to acquire a few silica-gel packets.

Minute 15: Roll up the sheet and shake the dust from it outdoors. Now peruse your pristine library and find the right title to read next.

While this sounds really tempting, I think I'll skip the whole "let's fling more dust in the air so it can enter my sinus passages" and continue with my streak of zero books a year. And while I'm sure that Doug will manage to find something to read, he probably won't be pulling it off the shelves of the newly clean bookcase. Because he already downloaded the book to either his iPad or Kindle, where the books are neatly organized on digital, dust-free shelves.

Thanks, Mom

(Originally posted on November 23, 2009)

One question that a stay-at-home mom deals with all the time is, "So what exactly do you do all day anyway?" In addition to sitting on the couch with a bag of chips watching a Meredith Baxter Birney marathon on Lifetime, there are times when I find it necessary to mutate into more than a few dozen other people in order to create an efficient, happy household. Several of these roles are often overlooked and taken for granted in the chaos of our day-to-day lives. With the craziness of the holidays quickly approaching, I always carve out some time to reflect on the past and give thanks to these people, just in case my kids get too busy asking for stuff and forget to.

Cleaning Lady. In addition to the monotonous vacuuming/dusting/ de-gunking/scrubbing/sweeping, this kind lady also wipes up sticky spills that mysteriously appear, gets dog barf out of the carpet, unclogs toilets, organizes closets, kills bugs, does endless loads of laundry, and has even been known to iron.

Human Resources. Thank you for encouraging cooperation and empathy, teaching the five-year-old how to use words instead of her clenched fists, solving the famous "Who Touched Who First" dilemma, and managing to get the teenager to say something besides, "Maybe you could be lamer, Charlie."

Landscape Contractor. The lawn is always a welcome place for a picnic or a game of baseball, thanks to the person that weeds, mows, trims, and picks up the dog crap. And contrary to popular belief, I know that this person does not appreciate hearing, "Gross Mom, you missed a pile over here."

Hospitality Manager. After making sure that the bar fridge is stocked with an assortment of beverages and always having snacks on hand, I appreciate this individual's willingness to host science project get-togethers, video game marathons, and the occasional sleepover, no matter how weird the other kids might smell.

Dog Groomer. After brushing the dog, washing the dog, clipping the nails, and drying the dog, the dog seems a little less revolting for at least five hours, unless the stupid dog runs into the backyard and promptly rolls in goose shit. And since the dog groomer isn't insane, expressing the anal glands is not in the job description.

Anesthesiologist. Thank you, Benadryl.

Nurse. An extra-hearty thank you for never giving the 32-pound child an overdose of Motrin, knowing all the tricks to reduce a fever, never doing the dreaded "gasp loudly and make giant eyes" reaction when a kid falls down, spotting a phony, dishing out just the right amount of sympathy when necessary, and making soup.

Psychologist. Somehow, this person is almost always able to win a battle and doesn't care if the kids get mad about the result. She can also tell the difference between when a kid is about to lose it and needs a break, and when the kid needs to suck it up and push himself. The psychologist also knows that the oldest kid doesn't talk very much; but when he finally does, she bakes some pre-made cookie dough and actually listens.

Chauffeur. How do I thank this person enough? Constantly getting kids, sports equipment and backpacks in and out of the car, sometimes passing herself on the freeway, rarely being late, never relinqishing power over the radio, and somehow always having a granola bar and a bottle of water available for a hungry/thirsty kid. How she manages to not scream obscenities at all of the stupid, horrible, texting drivers out there is beyond me.

Activities Coordinator. Scheduling dentist, doctor, and eye appointments, violin, piano, and tennis lessons, haircuts, tennis tournaments, and piano recitals in coordination with the school calendar is no easy feat. At least this person is smart enough to also make time for happy hours and vacations.

Nutritionist. Thank you for having the backbone to say, "No. You cannot have a Sour Patch Kids sandwich for lunch," always having fresh fruit in the house, making dinner every night, and even remembering to feed the dog. Creating a meal that isn't too cheesy, spicy, fatty, gooey, meaty, vegetabley, or squishy is not the easiest thing to do.

There are so many things that moms do everyday, and it's easy to feel like no one notices that the house is clean, there's food in the fridge, the school projects are completed on time, and the beds are made. Some people will try to make you feel better by saying: "It's a thankless job, get used to it," "But the kids are so sweet, treasure every moment," "It's such a privilege that you should appreciate," or some other pointless cliche. I know it's a privilege to not have to drive to work, I wouldn't trade being a mom for anything, and while most days are great, some are the absolute opposite of great. At some point every year, I think every mom should be able to say... "SOMETIMES THIS SUCKS! SAY THANK YOU! And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go make a drink. Or three."

Excitement Is Not Contagious

Yesterday, I spent most of the day emptying, rearranging, and then reorganizing the playroom. Even though I now have to make another trip to Goodwill, the results are worth it. When I go to bed, knowing that there is a clean, organized, functional playroom two floors beneath me is the equivalent of taking a double dose of Ambien.

When Charlie got home from school, I was kind of excited to show him the results, because not only was everything hyper-organized, but the furniture had been rearranged so that there was now a ton of room to play Wii without hitting anyone in the face.

As he walked into the playroom with his eyes closed, he had a smile on his face and was obviously excited. When he opened them, the smile disappeared and he said: "Oh. Man, I was hoping that maybe we had a new ping pong table or something. This is what you're showing me?"

Yes, it is. But that's not all! In addition to this clean playroom, you get a smack on the head!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

While reorganizing the playroom, my analness got out of hand and I'm getting rid of every single crayon in our house that doesn't have a sharp point, resulting in a shoe box full of colored wax. Since throwing them away didn't seem very "green," I tried to find a way to recycle them. I heard somewhere that if you have a small mountain of broken, worn-down, sad looking crayons, you can:

1. Peel the papers off all of the crayons.
2. Break the crayons into small chunks.
3. Put 5-10 chunks in each space of a muffin tin.
4. Put the muffin tin in a 250 degree oven until the crayons melt.
5. Let the crayons cool overnight.
6. Remove them the next day and enjoy!

If you have even more time to kill and plenty of Band-Aids, you can let the kids use a cheese grater or vegetable peeler to make crayon shavings to put into the muffin tin, which will end up melted into a giant hunk. Or, if you have serious issues, you can use sucker molds in the shape of your child's favorite character and, using a fine brush, you can "paint" facial details onto the chunk of wax that will eventually end up rubbed down to the shape of a chicken nugget.

Since spending time in the kitchen making something that isn't even edible (or drinkable) is pretty much my idea of hell, I will not be making homemade crayons. I will, however, find time to head to the post office to ship the box o' wax to this crayon recycler:

Coloring Fun With Crazy Crayons...a National Crayon Recycle Program

Just Take The Damn Thing!

I have spent the last few days attacking every closet, drawer and storage room in our house. My OCD/anal/manic personality traits are in overdrive and, judging by the fact that the kids are afraid to put down their most prized possessions, I'm pretty sure my family is scared. It's safe to say that I will never end up being featured on "Hoarders" or "Clean House," and unless they make a reality show about control freaks that need to keep things lined up at 90-degree angles, I'll be able to continue to live my life in well organized, labeled privacy, surrounded by color-coded bins.

As a result of all this cleaning and purging, and because I refuse to hold onto the unwanted crap while I wait for the perfect weekend to waste several hours of my time hosting a garage sale, I have made a couple trips to Goodwill. Since I don't want to drop off random, unorganized items, I have grouped the donations into categories: Tuesday was housewares, Wednesday was clothing and books, and yesterday was toys.

Included in the toy drop-off was a Sit & Spin and a small ride on car that can also be pushed. Yes, I was excited to get these two space hogs out of our playroom, but I also knew that some other little kid was going to be happy when these toys arrived in his house.

I pulled into the Goodwill drop-off area, and as soon I opened the back of my van I heard the Donation Dictator say: "Nope. We can't take those big junky plastic items. No large kid toys are accepted because they're just too dangerous."

"It's a non-junky Sit & Spin and a car. There aren't any knives or rabid animals included." Was this guy for real? He just accepted the horrible throw pillows and dusty floral arrangement from the lady in front of me, so why would he turn down perfectly clean, fun, never-thrown-up-on toys?

"I see that, miss. But those things are just too darn dangerous. What if a kid falls off and hits his head? We can't be exposing kids to those kinds of risks." He was serious, and was looking at me like I was the most irresponsible parent in the world for not only owning such a hazard, but for trying to pawn it off at Goodwill.

I was ticked. First of all, now what was I supposed to do with this shit? It was already out of my organized house, so there was no way in hell it was coming back in. Second, aren't kids putting themselves at risk of falling and hitting their heads when they're walking? And excuse me, Mr. Contradiction, but Charlie's old Hulk Hands are in the box that you just accepted for donation. You'll take the toy that yells out "HULK SMASH!" when it punches another kid in the face, but you won't take a ride on car?

Rather than pick a fight with someone that probably lives in a house lined with foam and makes his children wear protective headwear whenever they leave the safety of the foam house, I shut the car door and went to Target.

While I was leaving the store, I noticed a woman walking through the parking lot with a two-year-old kid. Remembering that the Sit & Spin and car were still in the back of my van, I was tempted to ask her if she wanted a couple danger-free, super fun toys for her little girl. That's when it occurred to me that my bat shit crazy motivation to get rid of the crap was clouding my judgment, so I quickly got in the car and left.

Now there's a Sit & Spin and a plastic car in my garage. Any takers?

A (Sometimes) Beautiful View

One reason that we bought our house in the depths of suburbia is because of the view out the back windows. Some people call it a scenic wetland, others would refer to it as a marsh. I just know that when I am standing on the deck, I don't have to look at the back of a neighbor's garage or, unless I really strain my neck, directly into someone else's bathroom window.

Judging by the amount of dog crap that has accumulated on our deck over the past week, it has been cold out. Yesterday morning was no different, but one thing that made it more bearable was the frost patterns that had formed on the storm door. Since our deck faces east, the sunrise made the frost pretty enough to make me pause and actually take a picture.

One of my brothers was thoughtful enough to give Zoe a pack of Crayola Window Crayons for Christmas. Since the window in the deck door is the recipient of smears from the dog's nose and hand smudges from the kids, it is the one window in our house that gets cleaned on a fairly regular (weekly) basis, which makes it the ideal, and only, place that I will let her use these markers. After I took the picture of the frost and shut the actual door, the view instantly shifted from "Nature's Suspended Beauty" to "My Kids Are A Little Bit Twisted."

While Zoe had been busy drawing multi-colored wavy lines across the bottom of the door, Zach and Charlie wanted to get in on the fun. The results, while creative and colorful, also manage to prove that even though my kids have similar interests and sometimes even get along, there is definitely an age gap.

Yes, there is a smiling snowman, but there is also a dog peeing on the snowman. Charlie drew The Smoker from the video game "Left4Dead2." The tree trunk is blue, two UFO's are having a battle, and one man managed to get his head shot off in an unfortunate bow and arrow accident. Apparently the markers don't come pre-programmed to only draw pictures of flowers, rainbows, cupcakes and sunshine.

Lucky for me, this stuff washes off easily, so I will be able to have a clear view of our snowy bog without having to always look through interesting artwork. If, however, the dog continues to crap and pee on the deck, I may just have Zoe color the entire window black, and I won't wash it off until it gets warm out.

Coming Clean

Hello. My name is Jody, and I am a little bit anal. This may come as a bit of a shock to those of you who thought you knew me, but it's true. Dirty dishes never sit in my sink, my junk drawer contains a labeled divider, and laundry baskets are rarely more than half-full. Sometimes when I look at my hand, it seems to be frozen in a position as if holding a can of Pledge, my finger ready to push the trigger at the first sight of dust. I have been known to Dust Buster crumbs off of Zoe's lap, I despise white spots on the bathroom mirror, and I bought myself a wall-mountable Shop Vac for Mother's Day so that I can keep dirt and crumbs out of my minivan. And yes, you might find a Swiffer cloth in the glove box.

Unfortunately for my family, my anal tendencies aren't just limited to cleaning and organizing closets. There are specific "zones" for everything in the pantry, I always know exactly what's in my freezer, and there is a designated spot for the ketchup in the refrigerator. Disturbing? Maybe, but I also never end up with four open bottles of ranch salad dressing or find a dish of mystery mold lurking in the back.

Staying organized amidst the addition of holiday food requires some skill. Suddenly there's large hunks of meat, obscene amounts of butter, and big bottles of booze that need to be chilled. In addition, I always like to have a spare loaf of bread in the freezer because, well, that's what anal people do. Since I don't want to own or organize a second freezer, space is at a premium.

What I really hate is when one of the kids leaves one ice cream sandwich or one waffle in a box that originally contained a dozen because then not only do I not know to buy more waffles, but the empty box is taking up space that would easily accommodate a loaf of bread, or even a bottle of vodka. Everyone that lives here has been told that if there are fewer than 10 crackers, less than a bowl of cereal, or two bites of ice cream left in the container, please suck it up, eat the last few bites and throw the packaging away!

After having this conversation no fewer than 127 times, you can imagine how happy I was when I was trying to get bread to fit into the already-full freezer, and found this container of chocolate chip ice cream taking up prime space right in the front:

That's when I decided to hell with the spare loaf of bread. This anal girl is obviously going to need to keep more vodka in the freezer if I'm going to survive the holidays. If someone wants a peanut butter sandwich on Christmas Day and finds that we're out of bread, then they'll just have to use crackers. After all, I'm sure there's a full box in the pantry, cracker section, subsection saltines.