Have I got a solution for you!

When you've got 2 kids, a full time career with many late nights and a husband who works 90+ hr weeks you learn to just roll with things. I've learned to lower my standards. 90 percent of the time my house looks like a bomb went off. Food stuck to the table, dirty dishes in the sink, drop pile by the front door, finger prints on every window, cheerios as far as the eye can see, toys strewn about, 3 days of mail piled up on the counter and laundry more than week over due. Does this bother me? Absolutely. Does this stress me out? You betcha. Can I do a thing about it? Not a chance.

I've tried using "organizational guru" tips/tricks to contain my mess. None had staying power. My favorite is the Clean for 20 mins a day to make the work seem less cumbersome tip. See.....here's the thing. I'd have to actually FIND 20 mins in my day with nothing better to do than clean. And we all know that ain't happening! But what I could do is consult with my 4yr old, who apparently has a great idea on how to control my clutter.....genius!

As my very best friend can attest, my son is a walking infomercial. It's comical his undying belief in products like Happy Nappers and the The Gyro Bowl. Without fail he can recite commercial verbiage of the most current As Seen On TV product. He's the next TV Pitchman.

Tyler: "Mom! You need a space bag!"

Me: "A what?!"

Tyler: "A space bag, ya know....." demonstrating the item with square hand gestures and a hand pat for emphasis.

Me: "I do do I? And why is that?"

Tyler: "Because your closet is a mess, just look at this clutter! [hands extended out in display] The space bag helps organize your shoes, your sweaters, your coats. AND it's safe from dirt and bugs!"

I guess that about says it all doesn't it.

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When it doesn't suck, dismantle

Several years ago, the husband decided to go all out and buy me a Dyson for Christmas. It was WAY more than he should have spent, but who am I to begrudge his thoughtfulness. It was purple. Heavy. Had lots of gadgets and could suck an obscene amount of dirt out of my 30 yr old carpet. Enough to make Dear Abby faint. So I figured no one should return expensive, heavy, purple gifts that can dazzle and gross you out all at the same time. Right? It was Christmas, and my Santa had got it just right.

Eventually, I discovered I wasn't the only one obsessed with my fancy cleaning machine from heaven. And for those of you who follow me regularly, you can probably guess who else in my house gets really excited when it's time to vacuum.

Tyler loves the vacuum. It's his forever friend. He likes to drag it around the room. He likes to drape himself in the 30 ft cord. He likes to push the knobs, and to empty out the dust canister. He really likes to extend the 14ft cleaning wand and add the attachments and pretend he's sucking up bugs. He also, on occasion, like to give his friend a "snack". (more on this later)

One of the many reason why I love my Dyson is no matter what I suck up, (dirt, wrappers, twisty ties, hair, M&M's, etc) it keeps on sucking. I can vacuum my entire house, fill up the canister WAY past the maximum fill line and I'd still be able to suck my curtains right off the wall.

Now, Dyson advertisers claim: Instead of relying on bags and filters to trap the dust, a Dyson vacuum uses patented cyclone technology to spin the dirt out of the air. That's one of the reasons why it doesn't lose suction, picks up more dirt from your home and expels clean air.

Conclusion: A Dyson doesn't lose suction.

Analysis: Mostly true.

But a better tag ling would have read:

A Dyson doesn't lose suction, even when clogged with batteries.

Why? Because Tyler's vacuum snack was 3 batteries. Several conclusions I made from this fun filled experience.

1) A Dyson's suction is strong enough to suck up 3 batteries shoved in the attachment hose.
2) Tyler's red fire truck is missing it's battery cover.
3) The opening to the dirt canister is not big enough for 3 batteries to pass through.
4) 3 batteries, rattling in the return compartment does not create enough noise for the Husband to be distracted from his ultimate goal. Finish vacuuming in order to watch golf.
5) The sound a Dyson makes when it finally loses suction, is loud enough to send the dog running for cover.
6) Time it takes to locate the noise and dismantle a Dyson in order to reach the resting location of the 3 batteries, 30 mins.

You know you all want to try this little "field experiment" at home now don't you!

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Clean the closet; the vacuum is trying to kill me

The cleaning bug bit me over the weekend.

But it wasn't the giant Madagascar hissing cockroach cleaning bug, it was more of a small mosquito that annoys and pricks me just before I slap it flat against my arm.

So to satisfy this small annoyance of a bug, I decided to clean out the hall closet that had long been ignored and was in desperate need of a clean and toss session. It was the only location I could store my vacuums, however with the massive amounts of other unrelated "junk" collecting at the top and bottom of the closet, I took my life in my own hands every time I opened the door.

After about 15 mins of pulling everything out and tossing it indiscreetly over my head into a pile behind me I reached the back of the closet.

What I found, stuffed in the far recesses of the black hole of a hall closet was a small, yellow and white gingham check fabric tote with white canvas handles. My mothers diaper bag she had carried when my sister and I were a baby. Knowing my mother, she more than likely sewed it herself. She had been crafty like that.

The handles were yellowed with use and the white wasn't white anymore; almost ivory. There was a large brownish stain on the one corner, and it had the distinct pattern of a leak (probably baby oil). And inside were a pair of black patent leather soft soled mary-janes; size 2. My baby shoes.

The woman in me looked longingly at these shoes and envisioned my own unborn daughter wearing them some day. While the pack-rat in me quickly tried to process where to stash this that won't be forgotten later. I settled with placing the bag at the top of the stairs for the interim.

About an hour later I was finished with the closet and the husband had finished with his "honey-do" project and we were both straightening up the house. Read: picking crap up so it looked less like a mess and more like we actually cared enough to be neat.

I need to preface the rest of the story with this: the husband puts his foot in his month; regularly. And from an observers perspective it can be painful to watch. It's as if the world is a TV show, with the closed captioning on and the subtitles a good 5 seconds ahead of the action. You see the thoughts and dialogue spelled out ahead of time but you are unable to intervene and prevent the words. All you can do is sigh and shake your head at the absurdity of it all.

As we climbed the stairs he spotted the small bag. He lifted the bag up from it's resting place at the top of the stairs and looks at me sideways.

"What is this? This is the ugliest purse I have ever seen. Why would you buy something like this?"

I just looked at the husband dumbstruck by his idiotic statement. He'd done it again.

"That was my mother's diaper bag and those were my baby shoes"

The husband turned a crimson shade of red and sheepishly hung his head.

"Oh...I'm sorry, it's lovely, it really is beautiful" as he handed me back the bag.

I love the guy, but some days I swear I don't know him.

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