I decided to have a more relaxing morning (read: l to the a to the z to the y) and a more stressful afternoon and evening, leaving cleaning for eighteen guests (a number raised from the expected six just two days ago) for later.
Now, here I am - we've hosed off the back yard and trimmed things a bit, hoping the weather will encourage people to stay outside as much as possible. The front hall has been cleaned, as I believe the "decompression zone" has a lot to do with the initial impressions of one's home. I've even put a fucking Begonia in a Frankoma pot next to a twee white pumpkin and a milkweed pod. They don't call me "Marla Stewart" for nothing.
As I've moved into the living room (the action plan is to clean from the front door out toward the back door - meaning entrance, living room, kitchen, mud room) (the upstairs to be cleaned during bath time, and the front porch cleaning and cooking take place tomorrow) - the random cleaning thoughts are coming fast and furious. As I've always said, "If I didn't blog, I'd burst." So, I'm depositing the thoughts here, much like I'm depositing household clutter elsewhere too.
5 pm - 5:19 pm:
Do other people check out my baseboards like I check out theirs?
I should just content myself with removing dog spit.
Go away cranky little black kitty man.
WTF have I been thinking with these curtains? Does burlap read funky or "cotton patch" to straight-laced relatives?
Front window - six years with no cleaning - why should I start now? Oh! Yes. Embarassment. So, do other people have to vacuum their windows before they're wiped clean?
Is that tree really dying like my neighbour says? Disturbing brown patches! Something to Google next week.
Wow - I like the impression of spaciousness less stuff gives! No- wait...that's wrong. It's ACTUAL spaciousness. Wow.
I did not just break the windowsill under my weight. Oh, yes, I did.
Lalalalala don't see rotten wood lalalalala.
Steve is my hero, having an arm span the exact width of the window from standing with one foot on the porch, one on the ledge.
Note to self: Don't crush the child's faith in herself. If she really believes that clutching Steve's ankle will save him from falling, so be it.
Go away, hungry little black kitty man.
OH Man - how and when did that happen little hornet? Gee, sorry!
The window has been so dirty for six years that we never knew it was scratched. So it goes.
Am mad at the person who built the window seat for the fortieth reason pertaining to that specific renovation prior to our moving in.
Dinner = frozen meatballs, broccoli, French Fries. And over with a minimum of mess.
"Bastards of Young" lyrics on Josie's chalkboard - maybe a little to pointed. No?
Halfway across living room now - at this rate, I'll be done by...two am.
I want less stuff, but I like all our stuff.
The dog hates the sound of the vacuum and the smell of cleaning products, and making that known makes me need to use them even more.
There is something to having less stuff - I mean, other people don't have to vacuum their cow skulls.
I didn't mean to pen the kid in the front hall, but it's working.
Ironic - cleaning the house to "Mr. Freedom". Kind of, I mean. It's not "Mrs. Freedom".
Heard from upstairs: "Time to build the stools" (Heh heh heh - stools!)
6:54 - 6-56
I need another beer. I have to make room in the bottom of the fridge for the turkey. That beer was tilted just a bit, so I can tell it didn't really fit. Yeah, that's right.
Heard a flush. The use of the word "stool" is too often used in the poopy sense in this household, and I hear the bathwater running. Might as well get to it while the pants are off, I guess.
On a somewhat related note: Remind self to yell upstairs to ask Steve to save the bathwater to give Molly a rinse after Josie's done. (It was her, not him, for the record.)
Removing the sofa slipcovers to wash is a nap-preventative, as well as a necessary part of cleaning the living room.
It's not the actual drool direct from the dog's mouth that's the big problem, I'm finding it's also that which comes as part of the head-shaking trajectory of slobber that covers our house like slime trails.
Found that a drinking game that called for a swig of beer any time I vacuumed up anything starting with the prefix "Polly" called for too many trips across the room to reach my beer while cleaning under the sofa.
Am moving the free weights to another room, their third location, where they still probably won't work by osmosis.
It's probably not the best time to upload some pictures to Facebook, but since I already know I'm going to have insomnia tonight, and a break is in order - why not?
OOPS! Forgot to inform the dog she wasn't getting a walk to the leash-free park tonight. The pleasure of our company throughout the day, and the general busyness disrupting her naps will have to suffice to make her tired enough to sleep through my insomnia.
You know, one reason we didn't put the hose away is that we knew Molly would have a great big poop on the deck right after we cleaned it, and that we'd need to give it another rinse off tomorrow.
#$%^&*(* squirrels have eaten yet ANOTHER decorative gourd from my fall display on the front porch.
Stools assembled, and you'll notice the timestamp doesn't include enough time for a trip to the hospital - meaning Josephine helped Steve to use the drill without incident.
Steve is listening to the Stray Cats while bathing Josie -- I guess it reminds him how proud he is of coining the nickname "Brittle Jim". I admit, I did laugh a bit, though I'm sorry it happened. None of us heals like we used to, you know.
Debating bathing dog tonight, or tomorrow, when she can dry outside. Or dropping the thirty bucks over at Soggie Dog...what to do, what to do...
I'm about to start the laundry -- do I need to wash more cleaning rags and kitchen towels first, or should I get the sofa covers done so I can take some "breaks" there later?
Did not bathe dog. Figure roasting turkey smell will cover furpig smell, if it comes down to that. Also, that's why I bought the "Tindra Mys".
Figured out the laundry order, and am exceedingly proud of myself. Because the sofa covers take a long time to dry, I can do a quick load of jeans - none of which go in the dryer. After hanging those, I can do a load of only kitchen stuff I need tomorrow, which will dry quickly, ending at the same time a normal load of whatever laundry will be finished. This will only take me until midnight!
Steve is playing is $75 (Goldmine value) Ricky Nelson album that he got at a Buffalo Estate sale last weekend downstairs in his Man Lair, and Josephine is having a dance party with him. She is hoping for crazy dances to Buffalo Tom's Treehouse next, I am hoping that a few more slow dances to "Lonesome Town" will put her to sleep. Also, I know Steve is silently bemoaning the drop in the Canadian dollar -- because that means that $1 he paid for the record means he really paid $1.15 for the record, meaning his mental "profits" are only $73.85, not a nice round $74. Not quite the score it was a week ago, then, is it.
The yams are now in the oven, and I will admit that I may have stabbed them a little harder than someone who was in a good mood about Thanksgiving Dinner would have. Am proud of myself that I remembered to bake them before giving the oven a good cleaning. Except that it will now take me until one to clean the oven.
I can feel my mother sleeping in front of the Buffalo News, dreaming of her breakfast at the diner on the way here tomorrow. She won't be eating there because she needs to from hunger, or because the trip is so long, or because it'll even be breakfast time when she passes the Casablanca -- it's entirely because she likes the breakfast there. And it's just eggs and toast and bacon and stuff, served by friendly but harried truck stop waitresses -- it's not like dancing unicorns serve gold-plated fairy eggs on magic toast there.
Other people with floor pillows and pets either vacuum more than we do, or they apply a coat of varnish to their pets. There's no way people are happy with pillows that look like mine do after a day or two on the floor.
There it goes: Treehouse. This household's offical crazy-dancing song. I must admit...I'm the one who got her started on this. She listened to this song when she was in my tummy . It's in my top-ten desert island songs.
Oh...now they're on Cuckoo Bird -- one of the others...time to go dance. We sang this to her as a baby, and now she sings it to us...
Missed dancing to Cuckoo - somehow one of my other favourites,"That's What Daddy Wants", got cut off - but Josephine fell asleep to Johnson City so all is good. Reminder to self: Be thankful for Wayne Hancock, specifically in this case and in general otherwise. Also, let mind drift back to the show at the Sportsman's Tavern, and the fun night there with Tom and Tara. Then think of how Tara had Annie Rose today. Get all teary about newborn babies, and be thankful for them.
Debate: Put clean sofa covers on tonight, so it's done? Or leave them until last minute tomorrow so they stay cleaner longer? Consider: The minute they go on, things like Basset Hound Butt Hairs and Free-Nut Buttery Fingerprints end up all over them. Also consider: Pie baking is being left until tomorrow, as is floor-mopping and front porch and walk tidying, and, well, everything aside from putting away some stuff in the kitchen later and folding that load of kitchen laundry.
Baking yam smell is making me hungry enough to start the pies tonight.
There is nothing like it - snatching sleep from the jaws of insomnia! I realized that I needed a moment's contemplation in order to choose my midnight snack, and the dilemma was: Can I bear to wait for toast, or will I have cereal. I was too tired to wait! Then I was too tired to chew!
The slipcovers must wait, the kitchen laundry can be folded tomorrow, the counters are tidy enough and the yams are baked. Because, and believe me, I'm typing with my fingers crossed...and I just yawned...I am going to go to sleep tonight, just like a real person who stayed up only a little late!
Of course, I may wake up at 4:30 like I did this morning...but wouldn't it be nice for Thanksgiving guests to find a well-rested person, even if her house has dusty bookshelves?