Undecorating

The Floria-Horsman Christmas tree, 2018

Growing up, my mom used to make sure there was at least one piece of Christmas décor in every room during the holidays. This included my sister's and my bedrooms, which often had to make room for a Santa or reindeer on our dressers. Wreaths on doors, mistletoe hanging, beautiful centerpieces on tables, and, of course, the tree. Our home was warm and inviting all year round, but especially during the holidays.

As a kid, I looked forward to some day decorating my own home with similar items when I grew up. And then I grew up. And I realized that everything that comes out has to be put back away.

The undecorating. Ugh.

Sure, it's lots of fun to decorate the house for the holidays. It's an exciting time, you're looking forward to time with friends and family, and it's nice to spruce things up. But then, come January 1, the holidays are over, gifts unwrapped and put away, meals shared and guests gone, and everything has to go back. I hate the undecorating, it is the worst. Which means, of course, I procrastinate.

We don't procrastinate on the tree, of course, because we don't want a fire hazard in our house. But everything else? It could be February or even March before the last pieces of décor get put away. That is, if I was the only person in charge of the undecorating.

But, if you know anything about my other half, I am not the only one who can undecorate, and this particular person gets incredibly annoyed at having Christmas decorations out in February. So, if the décor is still out by January 31st, he dutifully goes around the house, gets everything picked up, and puts it away.

Therein lies the rub.

I have specific boxes for specific items, and each box has written on the outside what is supposed to go inside. This does not seem to matter, though, as each year, when I start to decorate, what I find in each box is usually different from what is written on the outside.

This year the box marked "Standing Santa" had a reindeer in it. The standing Santa never made its way into a box, while the box the reindeer was supposed to be in was utterly empty on its shelf.

I shouldn't complain, honestly, I appreciate that he does it. After all, he didn't unpack it, so he doesn't know which items came from where. Sure, it's clearly written on the outside of each box, but his goal is to put away, not to put away correctly. Over the years, it has created some funny findings.

I have a nativity set given to me by a family very dear to me, made of fragile ceramic. Each year, I find this set packed into a different box. Four or five, to be exact, all of which have said at one point or another "nativity set" on it, and either had it crossed out (or not), and had something else written over it. Or it still says "nativity set" but what's inside isn't.

If a stranger came into our house and looked at our storage area, he would wonder how many nativity sets one family needs.

But finally, this year, we have a teenager who cares. She cares as deeply as her father that not only does the house get decorated, but that it also get undecorated in an orderly fashion. God bless their genes!

Lindsey helped me decorate the house this year and was horrified by the state of the boxes and packing the décor was in, though she did enjoy reading up on the news of the times from 1997. She insisted that we go through all of the boxes that ever had "Xmas" scrawled on them and pull everything out. We found decorating items that she has never seen in her lifetime; we never use them. We purged the stuff that was never used and put out the items we wanted out. Then, on December 26th, we hit "The Christmas Corner," a pop-up store in Southdale Mall with beautiful Christmas décor and bought some new items at 50% off.

Just this past week, she and I undecorated. She insisted we buy a large RED tote, so we could instantly see which tote had Christmas items in it without even having to read the writing on it. Color coding?! What a novel concept!

We took every piece of Christmas décor down from around the house, put it all in the middle of the living room and began to pack. Okay, so I packed it, she directed from her sickbed, the couch, where she has been suffering from a miserable cold for the past week.

At the end we had two large totes and four small boxes of Christmas decor, and one empty shelf in our storage space.

Now I'm kind of looking forward to decorating next year and putting up the new items we purchased for the first time. And...putting them back where they belong.

Arguing Without Words

Most couples have some sticking points on things that really aren't worth arguing about. Toilet seat up or down? Squeeze the toothpaste from the end or the middle? They become daily annoyances but in the great scheme of life, really aren't worth arguing about. That's why Wayne and I have these arguments without words. Because the few times that we finally do get a chance to sit down and talk, we'd rather not waste our time talking about these petty arguments.

A recent silent argument we had was about how to store those nifty S'well bottles. Our kids love them, our youngest keeps asking to buy different ones of different styles. (Isn't the point to buy just ONE so you don't create waste?) The bottles have to be hand-washed and every time I put them away I store them with the caps off, because if we store them with caps on, the little tiny bit of water that is in the bottom will mold in the bottle. Yet every time I go into the cupboard where they're stored, the caps are tightly fastened onto each bottle.

I know who's doing this, and it's not the two teenagers who can't be bothered to pick up their socks.

This went one for a month or more. I would take the caps off, he would put them back on. Next time I washed them I'd leave the caps off, he'd put them back on. Finally I left a note in the cupboard explaining my reasoning.

Finally, the caps stayed off the bottles. After a while the note disappeared, I assume because Wayne was tired of being reminded every time to NOT put the caps on.

Next up: the chair in our bedroom.

It's a beautiful chair, we both love it and love the fabric. It is super comfy and gets used practically every day. I especially love the snuggly throw that I bought to go with it. In the winter you can find me on that chair with the throw over my lap, a cup of coffee and a book. Heaven!

But...how to "store" the throw...

I like it casually draped over the chair. (After all, is it not called a "throw?") To me, it says "Welcome! This chair is for you! Sit down, wrap up and get cozy."

My version of the chair in our bedroom.

Wayne thinks the blanket looks messy this way. He likes it neatly folded. But...why? A neatly folded throw says to me that the chair is for appearances, not for sitting. This was an actual discussion that we had one time, because I found the folded blanket on the seat annoying. You always had to move it to sit on the chair, while with the blanket thrown over the edge you could sit on the chair for a few minutes to put shoes on and not have to worry about moving it.

So he stopped folding the blanket. But then he started doing this.

To me, this says that we are embarrassed about the chair. It must be ugly, worn, have big holes in the fabric because we don't want you to see the fabric, we want you to sit on it anyways despite its probable nasty appearance underneath.

And so the silent argument has begun. Every time he's alone in the room, I find the chair completely covered in the blanket. And every time I see that, I whip it off and drape it over the back. He will find it that way later and drape it over the whole chair again — I'll put it back the way I like it.

If this chair could talk!

But here's the thing: I don't have a logical argument for this one. The S'well bottles, that just makes sense, we don't want moldy, stinky bottles. But the blanket? This is just a matter of opinion, and we both think we're right.

And so, I turn to you, dear reader. Which way shall we store the throw on this chair?

One Week

I've been between jobs for one week now. Only the unemployed and retired know this feeling. There is nothing waiting for me at the office. No one needing an answer...on anything. No projects on my plate. Pure and utter blankness.

My project list at home, on a different note, has been tackled with gusto. I feel great about all the things I've done there, yet still found time to enjoy myself.

I am truly a believer that the universe works in mysterious ways, and that if we are simply patient and quiet, things will work out the way they were meant to, even if that's not how we planned them.

This job change was meant to happen, and this week between was, too.

I spent the first part of the week with my sister, who was also enjoying her final week of unemployment before starting her new job as a nurse at a hospital 2 miles from her house. We went to her apartment and hung pictures. We went for a bike ride/skate and enjoyed lovely afternoons on the patio until Wayne got home from work. We hung pictures at our house and cleaned out our front closet. Being silly sisters, we had fun every step of the way.

Artwork by Marissa (top) and Lindsey (bottom)

Then Kristi started her job and Wayne flew to Denver for a business trip. Marissa asked to stay home with me one day and so I said, "Why not?" She and I went for a bike ride to the local library and bakery. We went shopping for ideas for a home office for me, which was loads of fun for her because we were in the Ikea showroom.  Ideas galore!

Marissa enjoys a cinnimon twist from Great Harvest.

The egg! Meant for pre-schoolers, though.

The next day Lindsey asked to stay home with me and, of course, I said, "Why not?" Her idea of fun, though, was entirely different from Marissa's. She tackled the junk drawer in our kitchen because "it's the first thing on your list and it isn't done yet." While organizing,  she asked if we could organize her clothes in her drawers next, or maybe her closet, which had become the dumping ground for everything that's on her floor whenever I tell her to clean her room. Instead we went grocery shopping which she also loved doing because she loves doing the self-service checkout at Cub Foods, pretending to be a checkout girl.

My organizer. Extra allowance for this girl!

The three of us spend our mornings on the patio, I drinking my coffee and the girls watching their Kindles or playing games.  I don't have to hurry anyone out of the house to be anywhere by any time.

My first day on the job wil be a rude awakening. And yet it won't, because I don't need to drive anywhere for it. It's right here in my house. On a regular basis I do not need to spend 1 1/2 to 2 hours on the road, getting to and from my place of work. It's going to be challenging, for sure. I'm looking forward to having clients again, and to getting to know a whole new team of people.

Today's my last day of non-working status. I'm going to finally get those other items checked off my list: a massage. A skating loop around the trails. A shopping excursion (for me, thank you very much).  Then time to dive in.

Gratitude for Modern Conveniences

Did I mention that our dishwasher sprung a leak on Christmas Eve?

It actually happened when we ran the dishwasher overnight on the 23rd. We ran it even though it wasn't full because it was 2 degrees and expected to get down to 12 below overnight (and it did, in case you were wondering). We've had the water line to the dishwasher freeze in previous cold spells, so we thought that by keeping water running as the temperature dropped that it would keep the line from freezing.

Instead it sprung a leak, resulting in water all through our basement.

Awesome.

This means I baked a coffee cake Christmas Eve, a pasta dish that evening and a nice dinner the following night, while hand-washing every single dish, spoon, fork, knife, serving dish, plate, cup and bowl that was dirtied. This means that we washed dishes approximately 4 to 5 times a day, for five days.

We were able to get a hold of a plumber who came to look at it the day after Christmas.  He determined that not only was a hose busted, but the dishwasher itself had a leak and an appliance repairperson would also need to be consulted.

We sure know how to break stuff.

We hosted a family dinner on Saturday while the dishwasher was only partially repaired, resulting in dirty dishes on every flat surface in the kitchen before clean-up began the following morning.

Re-routing the plumbing to and from the dishwasher so it can be INSIDE the exterior insulation (what a concept).

So I learned to appreciate my modern dishwasher, but also to appreciate clean dishes, because I have to say that our silverware and dishes never gleamed quite as well as they did while we were hand-washing.

One of many loads of dishes washed in a day.

And it also reminded me of this little story I read in Reader's Digest many moons ago.

A recent bride had just moved into a brand-new home with her husband.  She was incredibly excited to show her family the home with all its modern conveniences. One day the bride's grandmother visits, and the granddaughter happily takes her on a tour of the house, spending lots of time in the kitchen with its modern appliances.

The grandmother smiled as she surveyed the beautiful and modern kitchen and asked, "If you had only one of these modern conveniences and had to give up the rest, which would be the one item you would keep?"

The bride looked around the kitchen, at the dishwasher, the side-by-side refrigerator, the stovetop and oven, the warming drawer,  microwave and debates: Which one could she absolutely NOT live without? Finally she says, "The microwave. Because if nothing else worked, I could at least heat up some takeout."

"Interesting choice," the grandmother said, "I would've chosen the running water."

Because I'm Smart Like That

We all get into ruts. Doing things the way we always did them, regardless of whether or not they make sense.

Remember my post about frying bacon?

I received lots of advice after that, links to pans made specifically for frying bacon, and all kinds of recipes for frying and baking bacon.

It takes some of us a few times to learn, doesn't it.

In the past few years I've developed a pet peeve about our kitchen towels.

They are conveniently located on the handle of our dishwasher, relatively close to the sink. All you have to do is turn to the left to wipe your hands.

Yet very often I find these towels on the floor, which is not only annoying, but not very sanitary.

For a while I thought that the girls were using the towels and then dropping them on the floor. I kept getting after them to make sure the towels were picked up, and they kept saying that they were putting them back.

Finally I discovered the culprit.

Since the dishwasher door is opened several times a day, every time it was opened and shut the towels would slide off the handle.

I tried tying them onto the handles, but then they were too short to actually use.

Finally I came up with the solution.

We are now putting the towels on the handle of the oven. That only gets opened once or twice a day, if that, and it's not much farther away from the sink than the dishwasher (it is a small kitchen, after all).

It took me a year or so to come up with this solution. I know, I know, it's amazing I'm gainfully employed.

Why I'm Glad I'm Not Beyonce.

Tonight I substituted tomato sauce for tomato soup in a recipe. I also threw in some chili powder, dried minced onions and garlic powder because it called for a cup of salsa and I only had half a cup before the jar went dry. (You can sense my fine culinary skills at work here, can't you?)

"That's it!" I stated. "Someone has to go grocery shopping."

And by someone, of course, I meant me.

Every once in a while I'll go grocery shopping after the kids are in bed. I'll leave the house around 8:30 and get back between 9:30 and 9:45 loaded for bear. It's amazing how much more efficient you can be when you're not jockeying every other person who had the same idea in the middle of a Saturday afternoon.

Tonight, I thought I might not want to get myself ready for bed after I come home, I may just want to fall into bed, exhausted from the day.

So I decided to get ready for bed BEFORE I left to go grocery shopping.

I brushed my teeth. I washed my face of all traces of make up and put my nighttime facial cream on. I took out my contacts. I would've changed into jammies but I was already wearing my signature yoga pants that I put on immediately upon arriving home from work all winter long, so that was already taken care of.

And off I went to the grocery store. I am sure I was a sight. After all, we all know how soft and creamy my skin looks without make-up and how I have absolutely no blemishes at all. My hair looks awesome held back by a headband with curls hanging out in every direction. And don't get me started on how beautiful my eyes look behind my 500-power glasses. Yeah baby!

And I was so glad I wasn't Beyonce.

Beyonce can't take two steps out of any building without someone snapping a photo of her. When she was pregnant (she delivered a healthy baby girl, by the way, name of Blue Ivy Carter) people kept trying to capture pictures of her "baby bump." By the time she finally started looking slightly pregnant she was weeks away from delivering a baby.

From when Beyonce announced her pregnancy at 5 months along. Yeah, right.

Photo credit: www.juicytings.com

I, on the other hand, can leave the house, blemishes and all, naked skin, yoga pants and clunky snow clogs, and no one cares. No one at all.

I am so lucky.

These Warm Autumn Days

Saturday morning.

Sunday morning.

Yes, the leaves did eventually get raked up and bagged. And by the next morning you couldn't tell.

Your wrinkled is my ironed



Is his shirt wrinkly? You be the judge.

This weekend my mom and stepdad were visiting while the hubby was out of town. One evening we were watching TV and I was sorting and folding the laundry. I set aside one of my husband's work shirts to take upstairs to hang in the closet, since those don't get folded.

My mom looked at the shirt and says, "You know, you should really get those wrinkle-free shirts. It'd save you a lot of time."

I looked at her and at the shirt. "That IS a wrinkle free shirt, and that's as wrinkle free as it's gonna get."

That's when she realized my intention was to hang it and not iron it.

And of course that got me thinking that yes, my husband's shirts are a little bit wrinkly, even if I whip them right out of the dryer the minute I hear it go off (which I had done this particular evening). I iron my own because, well, because I prefer wrinkle-free shirts and can iron them myself.  I figure if he wanted totally wrinkle-free shirts he could iron his own as well.

But tonight, while ironing my own clothes, I decided to iron a couple of his worst offenders that were hanging in the closet. Some colors tend to show the wrinkles more than others, so I picked those and added them to the pile.

I was completing his third shirt when he suddenly realized that these were HIS shirts I was ironing, not my own.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Ironing your shirts," I said.

"I don't wear my shirts to work like that. They look too crisp."

Good to know. I think this means I'm off the hook.

Proof once more, that everything is relative -- and that our idea of "wrinkle free" is indeed wrinkle free...for us.