Adventures in Housewyfery

There was just too much adventure this morning to do a simple G+ post. This morning requires pictures, so grab your adventure hat, and cup of culturally appropriate beverage of your choice, because it's going to be a day.

I'm going to need a lot more "lemonade" for this.

So my morning started at 12:30 am with some heartburn I cannot even begin to describe. I felt like a bad sword swallower. I hate midnight snacking, but I also know that there is only one thing that will curb it, so I downed a bit of cheese and some milk. My mother does her best to instill healthy habits in me, and midnight snacking flies in the face of it, but then, pregnancy flies in the face of normalcy, mostly because evolution is stupid.

Two words: Laryngial nerve.

So, with heartburn calmed, I get to sleep for another three hours before I have to pee again, because evolution is still stupid.

Squids don't have a blind spot like we do. Jerks.

Well, right about the time I was about to fling back the covers from a hormonal hotflash, hubby's alarm went off and he muttered something about morning and stumbled off to the shower. On Friday, I don't have to make lunch for the boy (pizza day at school) so I relaxed in bed, checking email. Ah, a note from the Boy's teacher. Well, this is starting my Friday off on the wrong foot.

I can see where this is headed.

So, I am laying there, quietly contemplating talking to the Boy about school, again, because he told me everything was fine. But before I really get a chance to go over things in my mind, I hear a thud, a shout, and a scream from the bathroom. I do not know it at this point, but the adventures are about to really begin.

Suit up.

So I rush into the bathroom. Husband informs me that he has just been stung by a wasp. He gets out of the shower, asks me about the stinger--I already know that wasps are the bastard cousins of bees and do not leave the stinger in--and we find our little jerk friend battling the shower water that is still falling. Well, being the brave insect slayer that I am, I look around the bathroom for something deadly, grab the foaming hand soap, turn off the shower, and douse the thing until it is dead.

Something about this does not say "Amazonian Princess" to me.

Well, I'm about to leave as hubby returns to showering, when I make a terrifying discovery. The wasp had a friend.

I will sting your face.

Meet the Carolina Red Wasp. At first it was by the ceiling, but when it got tangled in a spider web, it panicked, and we, being the large, intelligent mammals that we are, did what our species is best at in such a circumstance. We got as low as possible and cried out in terrified shouts to each other.

You rang?

Once our second "Red Baron" had landed on the door jamb and was staring at me in my bright red tank top, hubby returned to showering. My new plan, sneak out for wasp spray. Okay, no pictures for a minute. I want you to read, then close your eyes and imagine what you are about to read:

Our bathroom is a faded blue, and so small it would violate modern codes. It was grandfathered in so that our house would still be habitable. My husband had just finished his shower and was wrapped discretely in a fluffy towel. I was in the small space between our sink and the door, allowing him to step safely out without alarming our guest.

The wasp was perched in the center of the only door out of the room, like an evil version of Poe's Raven. It's wings at rest, it's compound eyes fixed on me. Bob left the shower, very slowly, and began to shave. He did not have his glasses, I did, so I kept my eyes focused on the Baron. Then it hit me. I have wasp spray, just on the other side of that door. Also, my son was awake and could come bursting into the bathroom at any moment.

So, to take control of the situation, I opened the door, beneath the Baron, as slowly as I could. I crouched down, low as I could, not crawling--pregnancy has prevented that, but crouched, almost a caper. I edged towards the door, like a ninja, my eyes never leaving the source of danger. I reached the threshold and edged under. SAFE!

As I slowly closed the door, a small, terrified voice comes from inside the bathroom. "Don't leave me alone with it!" Well, when you are a ninja, you must make choices. I let the dog out, made sure my son was secure, and got the spray. Husband was as far out of the way as he could get. It had taken wing again and landed on the wall.

I was at the door, as low as possible. Husband mutters low, "Hold on, I'm going to get into the shower."

To protect himself from ricochet spray, he slipped behind the curtain. My family line has a history of ranged accuracy that dates back to medieval times. I may not have the eyesight of my ancestors, but I drew on that strength and pulled the trigger.

Like an amateur ground gunner, the Baron fell from its perch and landed on the rug. As it struggled to its feet, I opened the door like a conquering hero for a second shot. BLAST. Dead.

Obligatory eye candy.

If the first encounter was a 4-camera sitcom, this was a dramatic superhero drama. (See above.)

So with that done, I returned to the mommying side of things. This will take some consideration. I feel as though I am standing where my mother stood 25 years ago, watching myself. Hubby feels the same thing, at the branching of two paths. I know, now, what my mother went through, I know how the world has changed and not changed, and I feel as powerless as I know she felt. Yet I am not doing this alone. I have the chance to change the past by changing the future.

Well, Mr. Frost, what now?

Apply self topically.

You know, it's hard sometimes to have a blog for which I need topics without becoming bogged down in the topical items of the day. Is Rocket Raccoon a better hero that Nolan's Superman? What side should I fall on in Gamergate? Should our focus be on Syria or ISIS?

Boxers or briefs?

But as with my chosen propaganda posters, I have chosen to keep this blog free of the usual polarizing rhetoric on the radio and focus more on internal struggles. Does my husband have clothes for tomorrow? Did I remember to pack an apple in my son's lunch? How do I remove THAT stain?

Boxers or briefs?

Okay, okay, focus! So the house has seen better days of late. As the sole house keeper, when you are feeling under the weather, the raccoons (aka, my son and husband) learn to adapt. Obviously washing laundry is a skill that they teach us in housewyf school and folding is something my husband refuses to do because of what he claims are my "Exacting standards."

I don't demand much.

My El Guapo has been clutter. I spent the summer trying to rid us of this dreaded disease of a modern consumerist culture and that has basically resulted in it creeping out of hidden corners to lay about my house and trip us in the dark. Now on top of that, my dear sweet beloved husband who I would not murder because I have no where else to go (and also blah blah, something about love), is collecting cans for the boy scouts. That's right. So all those tin cans I usually rinse out and toss into the recycling bin, he wants to keep. So for some reason this means that they don't get washed and must be stacked on counters, laying in bags around the kitchen, oh, and roaming free.

Just because I like to WATCH Hoarders,

does not mean I want to be ON the show.

I know what I have to do. It's not really an easy thing, but then, when do you have to resolve to do something when that something is NOT difficult?

I resolve to eat this.

I'm thinking that the first thing I need to conquer is the laundry. I'm so behind that the pile is nearly as tall as I am and I, er, haven't changed the sheets in a bit. Next will be drifts of clutter in the kitchen. I realize that my husband recently reduced his number of jobs to one that actually both pays the bills and gives us health insurance, but this also does not give him permission to decorate my car or my kitchen with his old papers.

Has anyone seen my casserole pan?

As for the books double stacked on the floor behind my mops, as a guy told his marriage counselor, "We're here to discuss THEIR problems not MINE!"

(Real actual picture of my house.)

Okay, the books belong to ALL of us.

Keeping busy.

It's been a roller coaster couple of weeks here at the Homefront. Some good things have happened, though they have been somewhat overshadowed by rendering unto Caesar, and we've had a lot of rendering to do as we move from five separate paychecks to one decent one.

Close enough.

This being said, we're crawling out from under a debt rock, and this is actually a good thing. I will be thrilled when the only thing we owe money on is the house.

Maybe one or two other small things.

Anyway, I'm getting used to packing lunches for everyone in the mornings, though I admit to getting in a bit of a rut, as it can be hard to plan creativity ahead. More importantly, Thursdays lunches have to be special: for Mr. Smith, extra cute, for Junior, extra sturdy. Mr. Smith eats lunch with other professors, and loves to show off adorable bento lunches, because inside he's still a high schooler, and this is what we get for watching too much high school romance anime. I'm still looking for pickled plums though.

The world needs more hot dog octopi.

Anyway, on Thursdays, the boy goes hiking around the forest with his teachers. So for him, lunch has to be full of yummy things and sturdy enough to hold together as he treks through the forest with his backpack. I wish I had pictures.

I'm pretty sure it looks like this.

In other news, we are gearing up for fall yard work. Pruning is going to be the name of the game for the most part, at least here at the beginning of autumn. Once the snakes are definitely hiding down nice warm holes, it will be time to cut back the growth around the walnut trees. I'd very much like them to put their energy into making walnuts and not new sprigs and sprouts, but they are stubborn.

And a little mean.

I do have to admit that I've fallen a bit behind in my usual house cleaning. I'm the first to admit that I'm no Suzie Homemaker, but all those little things I do that aren't cleaning the pee from under the toilet are, I'm sorry to say, a bit more in need of my attention right at the moment.

I swear this isn't all I do.

Working hard or hardly working?

Okay, let's be fair, I plumb forgot to post last week. With the boy in school, I have a lot on my mind, he's out there in the world, and I am unable to hover. Being a helicopter mom of a school aged child is tough.

Not enough protection of his hands.

Also, he needs a coat... and a scarf.

So mornings have been busy, I have to make two lunches and a breakfast on most days. When I did this before, I had to get up at 5:30 am to start the rice in order to have it done, and I wouldn't eat breakfast until after the boys were away. Now, I don't have to start until 6:30, and I usually have time for breakfast, too.

Coffee is very important in the house of a Professor's wife.

I'm settling into the rhythm of things, and the long, quiet days of housewyfery, with my neurotic dog Bruce by my side.

Moves like a ninja, farts like a...well, not a ninja.

Recently, I have been looking at the piles of clutter around the Home Front. The fact is that since Junior started Home Schooling, I sorta just let my brain melt into my butt. But with my time being my own again, and the ability to concentrate for extended periods back to me, I have found a lot of things falling back into place. Without worrying about getting him a drink or making lunch on demand, or a snack, or trying to stimulate his brain. I leave this to the pros.

Just another day at school.

It's going to be a busy fall, this year. Junior has Scouts, I have volunteer work for the new school, Mr. Jones has scout stuff AND work, and I need him to help me with the yard. As grocery prices go up and everyone is shouting about GMOs and E. Coli in lettuce from human fecal matter, and all of the horrible things that happen to our vegetables between seed and table, not to mention the fact that it is right and proper, we have a five year plan beginning this year to fill up our little 1/2 acre of land with our own produce.

Nothing we eat is safe anymore.

That's right, time to plant a Victory Garden! Our current plan includes herbs, veggies, and plenty of fruits, including blackberries, blueberries, peaches, apples, and possibly grapes. I dream of having a little shady grape arbor where I can sit with my tea during the summer and watch the chickens and work on my tatting and needlepoint.

This is my moment, don't ruin it for me.

This year, we will be planting fruit trees, since they will take the longest to bear, and this will give me a little more time before I need the standing freezers and all of that. Luckily, I will be snagging a second hand food processor from my husband's grandmother who passed away, and though my kitchen is small, expert organization means that everything is right at hand.

Still bigger than my kitchen,

however, I'd kill for this set-up.

But today, at long last, I must do something I have not done in a while (which, as with any cleaning task, makes it that much worse). Today I clean out the fridge. I have some containers that need reclaiming, not to mention the space. Let me tell you, it's bad.

Maybe not that bad.

How this Housewyf got her groove back.

Okay, I'm going to admit it, the bush still lives. What's worse, fall is approaching and I have it and a couple of friends that need to meet the business end of my axe.

Obligatory Gimli. (That is, plural of a gimlet.)

I've been a little busy with a couple of home things, first and foremost, I have been returning to a cleaning schedule. I'm still a little bit on the crazy hippy side of things, but things ARE getting done. So, for those of you playing the home game:

Monday: Bathroom.
Tuesday: Bedrooms.
Wednesday: Living room, office.
Thursday: Kitchen, shopping.
Friday: Dusting and floors.

Find joy in your work.

In between, I have hobbies and, as most housewyfs, I have a whole lot of social media and online series binge-watching to do. To be fair, for the first couple of days of the Boy's new school, I spent most of the time scrubbing the grout, which is to say, I was doing nothing but cleaning things that don't need to clean in order to pass the dragging seconds until he got out of school. Of course, I'm cleaning the grout about other things as well.

It helps to pass the time.

In other news, I have to get either a new dryer or a permanent line. The current dryer situation is not working, as my dryer has decided that actually drying the clothes is for losers. Of course, with the weather the way it's been recently, the outside is not a good solution either.

We've had a bit of rain.

Well, it's back to work. Hubby is finishing the mowing, and I still need to cut down the monster bush.

O hai, I made some friends.

Maybe....

The Garden Gnomes have the Police Rock!

So, over the summer, the husband and I created a 5-year garden plan for the yard. This autumn, we are taking our first steps towards farming our half acre by planting our bushes and trees and acquiring a few things that I will need to save a summer harvest.

Better living through produce!

It is nice to know that large portions of my grocery bill will be reduced through homegrown eggs, veggies, and fruits. I am learning to make desserts using fres fruit, I still need to learn about jam, and I want to collect more vintage WW2 cookbooks and books on canning and preserving. Combining the wartime missives with the urban homesteading, and I'm about ready for a global Postman style apocalypse.

I used to be famous.

Of course, it is a five year plan. So patience will be a virtue. Then again, so will not having a crippling fear of snakes. You see, there is already a bush growing in the spot where I want to grow a peach tree. Unfortunately, it is defended by the fact that it is an excellent snake habitat. I saw a brown ribbon snake sauntering back under the bush as though he owned the place. Being a snake, he does.

Thug life.

But I will have to have the husband evict him and take down this overgrown monster of a bush. It's true, I suppose that a large part of our yard overhaul consists of deforestation and herbicidal mania, but in the long run, not having to mow an uneven half acre will be nice and having all the fancy home grown, organic, open pollinated, home prepared foods means that I will be able to fit in better with the parents at the private school.

Why no, I don't pass gas, but if I did, my flatulence would smell of Japanese orchids.

I'm kidding. There are a few others, like us, who are just normal working class and lower middle class parents who have to get our kids out of public school. I just wish we didn't have to go to this extreme just for our kid to get into college. But common core and no child left behind really did damage the schools--at least here. We don't really need schools designed by committee, we need standards designed by teachers with some parent input. After that, if little Cletus can't read, maybe they just aren't suited for greatness...

... or college.

Well, back to the laundry mines!

Back from the war!

So homeschooling put a big damper on my regular posting. I know that my adventures in the modern homefront have also suffered. This is why I am going to make an attempt to return to a regular blog posting twice a week. I have decided what I really need is a schedule, so I am going to make one, and now that I have an office with easy access, I should have the ability to multi-task with other stay at home mom things, such as chores, raising the Boy, and working on my career. I know this is a short post, but it's 4am and I am spending my time finding determination, since sleep is for the weak.