When the Husband Cooks

I have some friends whose husbands do all the cooking and I think they're as lucky as jackpot lottery winners.  It's not that I don't like to cook, I do - but if you multiply all the days of my adult life by three that's a lot of meals, even if you factor in all times we've eaten out. The point is, it's nice to have a break once in a while.

Last evening was one of those nights.  Jerry made us a fantastic supper while I was downstairs fiddling around with technology.  Okay, I was goofing around on Pinterest, but you knew that, didn't you?

After eating, I did a quick kitchen clean up.  Jerry can cook with minimal mess.  It's part of his mystique.  Whereas I routinely use every pot, pan and utensil at my disposal, he seems to be able to whip up a gourmet meal using only a salad fork and a toothpick.  It's actually a pleasure to wash dishes after he's cooked because there aren't many so progress is rapid. That's a plus when you have the limited attention span that I do.

But lest you think my husband is always a godsend in the kitchen, let me set the record straight.  During the night, I wandered out to the kitchen to get a glass of water.  That's when I noticed a greasy skillet on top of the refrigerator.

I'll never understand the male mind.

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Estimating is a Math Skill

I asked Jerry if he thought I could clean up the kitchen in fifteen minutes.

"No." he said.

Way to show support!  I decided to accept the challenge. I turned the timer on to fifteen minutes to prove him wrong.  It buzzed.  I kept working.  Two and a half hours later, I finally finished.

"How did you know it would take me longer than fifteen minutes?" I asked.

"You seriously underestimated how messy it was."  he replied.

Seriously.

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Speaking of Clean...

My friend was talking to me about his cousin who washes every load of laundry twice and changes the sheets and blankets of the beds in her house daily.  While he was talking, I was day-dreaming about how wonderful it would be to greet sleep wrapped in fresh-smelling sheets every single night of the week.  Somewhere in the background of my reverie, he said, "She's a raving neurotic."

So. Does this make me a raving neurotic wannabe?

Speaking of clean, I'm going to Michigan next week to stay with my daughter and her family for five full weeks.  During this time, I will be cooking, cleaning, doing laundry and playing with my grandson while we await the arrival of his baby brother.  Then the fun starts!  Sounds kind of perfect, right?

Why is it that I can get so much more done at someone else's house?  I think the reason is that there's less distraction.  The stuff isn't mine so I don't get knocked off-track so easily.  I'm not really sure though.  That's just a theory.

What does a toddler do when his mother is nine-month's pregnant?

Anything he wants to!

 

This time my work's cut out for me.

Cleaning Lady

Katie overheard me telling her father that I function best in an ultra-clean environment.  She laughed a long time.  The sound of her laughter is beautiful;  joy bubbles over into the room.  It always lifts my spirits and I enjoyed hearing it, even though I knew she was not laughing with me.  The joke, in her mind, was that she's known me her whole life and has yet to see me achieve anything that could even creatively be described as "ultra clean."  That does not negate, however, the fact that I function best with surroundings that are orderly.

I spend a lot of time cleaning and get very little bang for my buck.  Because of my propensity to get distracted midway, it takes a long time and the threat that one cleaning day will bleed into the next is ever-present.  To be frank, I stink at this.  It's strangely liberating to write those words. Now whenever people just drop by, they will know in advance that they aren't going to find "hotel clean" when they step over our threshold.  I try to get there -- a lot -- I just fail most of the time.  Like right now, for example.  I stopped cleaning to write this post.

Minutes ago, as I was cleaning the house, I thought, "What if when I die, God yells at me?"  What if he says, "Christine, I gave you a gift and you squandered it by spending all your time dusting, cleaning toilets and swiffering?"  Then he might continue, saying,  "Meanwhile you denied someone whose true passion was cleanliness an opportunity to do what she does best.  How do you justify this?"  What will I say?

It is possible that one of my true gifts is rationalizing.  But what if??  Maybe I should consider getting a cleaning lady, just in case.  Covering all your bases, I think that's what the guys call it.

Gimme a Break!

I spent today on my hands and knees, scrubbing the wood floors.  I finished at around 4:30 so I had half an hour before it was time to start supper.  I decided to read on the deck.  As I was turning to leave the kitchen, I looked at the refrigerator and thought, "If I just clean out the fridge, the entire first floor will be sparkling clean."

Don't do it, Chris!  Don't do it!  Can't you just hear the ominous background music?  Wish I had....because when I opened the door, a jug of cranberry juice fell out and as it was falling, the top flew off.  Not only was I drenched in cranberry, so were my shoes, the kitchen floor and the interior of the fridge, even underneath the drawers. 

So much for "virtue is its own reward."  I am grateful though that it was the juice that fell because right next to it was a quart of milk with an expiration date of July 30th.