Simple Cleaning Lessons

My house is tidy. Mostly picked up . . . most of the time. But it's actually quite dirty. Like, stuff-stuck-on-the-floors, soap-scum-residing-in-the-tub-for-months, need-to-scrub-all-the-toilets sort of dirty. I go in waves with my enthusiasm for cleaning. Right now in the third trimester? It's exhausting just thinking about getting on my hands and knees to do the work.

I've read all sorts of articles on embracing the madness. That a messy home is a home full of love. And all that stuff. But I've also hit the nesting stage and it's bothering me -- BIG time. I would like my house clean. At least sort-of, kind-of clean. And I think there's a happy balance to be had.

Nerd alert: I spent a good deal of Eloise's nap looking up cleaning videos on YouTube yesterday afternoon. Yes, I have a writing deadline I should have been working on. Yes, I could have probably better used that time to actually get off my butt and clean. But I'm desperate. I am trying so hard to figure out a better way to keep my house clean, not just picked up.

There are a few things I learned, and I thought I'd share them here. Because I was THISCLOSE to calling a cleaning company, which is a luxury I think to be totally worth it if you have the funds. I cannot allocate money in that direction right now, so figuring out a way to simplify my cleaning practices is key. That said, we may be saving up some dollars and cents to hire occasional cleaning in the first few months after baby comes this time around. Because no new, breastfeeding-constantly-always mama has time (OK. maybe time, but desire!) to scrub with three kids and a husband who's gone six days a week.

// 1: Stop zone cleaning. 

This was interesting to me. Several articles and videos I watched said to stop approaching the house from a "clean the living room" or "clean the bathroom" perspective. Instead, do tasks like dusting throughout the entire house first, then move on to cleaning windows and mirrors, then move on to wiping down surfaces/scrubbing toilets/etc. and then to floors. I've never tried cleaning my house this way, so I am intrigued.

// 2: Prioritize. 

Stephen and I have really different cleaning styles. I get bogged down basically taking a toothbrush to every microscopic area that could be gone over. He goes really fast and glosses over a lot. We need to marry these approaches, at least sort of. Like I could be LESS detailed and he could be MORE detailed. But we need to prioritize the areas we want the cleanest together. Generally things like kitchen surfaces and toilets/tubs are big priorities. Dusting the tops of the kitchen shelves and ceiling fans might not be something that makes it as high up the list.

// 3: Gather together. 

I don't have one of those cleaning buckets or baskets. My cleaning supplies are scattered in different areas by room. Because as I mentioned before, I used to clean by room. But if you do tasks, it makes more sense to gather everything in a basket or cardboard box -- whatever -- and take it to the areas you're cleaning in that moment so you aren't running around the house like a crazy person.

// 4: Enlist your kids.

This is something I have just started doing recently, and I'm seeing how it goes. Ada is old enough now to help with more cleaning tasks. Since my belly has kept me from wanting to bend over, I'm taking full advantage and asking her to do more. For example, after dinner ends up all on the kitchen floor . . . I ask her to go through with our hand vacuum each night and suck it up. No, she doesn't do a perfect job. But I don't have to do it. I have also asked her to start picking up toys (which is easier having gotten rid of so many!) with Eloise. Their top motivator is playing cleanup songs on YouTube. Yes, I could have started that way sooner, but I am a control freak and often figured it would be faster if I just did it.

// 5: Set a timer.

This is my own tip, because otherwise I think I may spend the next year cleaning without any breaks. I am planning to set a timer each day for 15 minutes to dedicate to cleaning. On another day each week, I may set it to 30 minutes or -- alternatively -- 15 minutes, twice that day. And then on the weekend, I may set it to 45 minutes or 15 minutes, THREE times in a day (with the whole family's help that day). I have trouble setting out to clean and having no set start or end time. If I break it into chunks, I think it will feel more manageable. I don't want to spend hours cleaning, but I am hoping by dedicating time each day -- even just 15 minutes -- I'll be able to power through better.


Do you have any cleaning tips to share?

I've seen so many "rhythms" and methods for taking each day to zone clean . . . but none of them have ever worked for me.

And if you're curious, my favorite cleaning YouTuber is Clean My Space. She uses VERY simple DIY cleaners. Mostly baking soda, vinegar, and water with microfiber cloths. No fussy recipes. She also gives tons of tips for fast cleaning and more deep cleaning.

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Kombucha: First Try

I drop mention of things periodically.
Have you noticed?

Things I've promised to do or declared I'm setting out to do. You know. It happens to bloggers all the time. It happens to non-bloggers, too. But with bloggers, there's this whole accountability bit. The words are out there. In black and white, depending on your site's color palette, alive for eternity on the web.

(Aside: I need to stop promising so much and just DO. I need to stop saying so much and just LIVE.)

Anyway, we were brewing our own kombucha as part of our fun-things-to-do-in-2013 plan. And we were entirely too excited about the first step: The process of watching the scoby -- the mother -- grow and flourish in its own disgusting, sixth-grade-science-experiment sort of way.

Almost the full two weeks in // on January 11, I remember specifically -- a day that will now live in infamy // Ada and I had gone out to the store to fetch some baking supplies. Chocolate chips and other essentials. Some eggs and almond milk, too. A head a broccoli. We got home + I proceeded to make Ada lunch and put away the items from our haul on empty shelves.

Ada sang to me as she shoveled in bits of tangerine and tofu. I stopped for a moment to erase the chalked Christmas tree that was still proudly carrying the room's decor for a full half month after the holiday. I drew a sparse, but colorful, winter scene in its place. Ada clapped and I continued my work of the grocery bags.

The scoby looked quite robust and slimy from its perch atop the refrigerator. It wouldn't be long now, I thought. The birth of our first batch was imminent. After lining up all the cold goods on the counter, I grabbed the refrigerator handle without much thought -- a tub of Earth Balance clutched in one hand, the other flipping open the dairy compartment -- and CRASH.

Down came the glass gallon jug.
Down came the fermented sludge.
Down it all came,
through a thin cheesecloth cover
onto
. . . me.

Hair, clothes, and toes wet with strange, foul liquid. I stood a moment in disbelief. Snapped a photo so there'd be proof when Stephen found the jug scrubbed in the sink. He'd be devastated. I knew it. Ada giggled. Then: What to do? It -- the mother -- was splished and splattered e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e. On the floor, in the fridge, on the wall, on the stand mixer, creeping ever-closer to Ada's high chair.

I'm almost 90% sure some droplets made it into my mug of tea.
Ironic, no?

Thankfully I Stephen had done a large load of bath towels the night before. They were folded and waiting on the couch for their journey to the linen closet. I grabbed a few and wiped down everything. I stripped down to my skivvies, right there in the sunny kitchen, desperately hoping my 80-year-old neighbors (Jack + Diane, yes -- like the song) weren't home to see the pathetic display. In one swift motion, I grabbed my clothes and scooped up Ada. We headed upstairs so I could shower off my hair and change.

For once in the past two years, I had been wearing a nice sweater that requires dry cleaning. I choose to blame this event for my current fashion disaster status. (At least grubby sweatshirts can be tossed into the wash without a thought beyond light or dark.) When we got back downstairs, Ada finished her lunch while I scrubbed and dubbed everything some more.

We haven't conceived another scoby since. I don't know when we will. I have a sour taste on my tongue over the matter. I've brushed my teeth many, many times since . . . so, I'm pretty sure that's not the leftover microbes from whatever splashed into my gaping mouth that day.

Lesson learned: Don't store so much darned stuff atop the refrigerator. Bookends are bound to slip and slide. And when your scoby has a great fall, all the king's horses and all the king's men do not come to your aid.

It's all on you.

Quite literally.

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Organization, Shoes, and Sauce

This is what our house looked like over much of the weekend. Now, I know I said it was messy, but I'm sorry to disappoint you. It wasn't THIS bad all along. This is just how it looked while we organized.

We pulled everything out of the cupboards. I mean e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.

I found many bulk mystery flours and other unidentified things. I used to label and date stuff, but lost my way this past year. What I've decided for both a cleaner kitchen and tighter budget is to stop buying exotic ingredients. For example, having bread flour, white flour, and wheat flour is more than enough.

We'll see how long this "rule" lasts. I've been known to get far too excited about food, toting home some new and weird thing to cook or bake with, only to leave it unused for years. Waste. What a bad habit!

Onto much-needed new shoes . . .


It's been a good 7 months since I've bought sneakers, and it was definitely time. Notice anything strange in this photo? Probably not. It's such a minute difference, even I didn't detect anything was off until we got into the car.

First: I decided to go with the Nike FREE 4.0s -- a slightly more minimal version than the Nike Run + 3.0s I've been sporting for the past several years. I'll be sure to review them once I get in some miles and see if there's any significant difference.

(My prediction? No major change).


Anyway, I wear an 8.5. While trying them on, I remember that the right shoe felt slightly snugger than the left. I figured it was because the anti-theft buzzer was on my right foot. I must have been blinded by my love for the magenta color because I ended up buying two different sizes!

(Strangely enough, this is the second time I've come home from shoe shopping with two different sizes. I have no idea why I didn't check before buying. In a rush, I guess.)

I plan to take them back tomorrow and actually buy them again, but online. I found a much better deal at Running Warehouse, where membership to our local runners club means an extra 15% off. I don't know why I didn't just do that to begin with!

Now onto one of my worst food photos ever.


I'll blame it on the iPhone. But really, I can't take a good photo of eggs no matter what camera I'm using. Just don't look at the eggs. Focus on the sweet potatoes. I made the Miso-Tahini Sauce featured on Emily's blog finally over the weekend. I am hooked.

Go make it. NOW! We have a whole jar full of it ready for dribbling and dipping this week. Ada's BIRTHDAY week, by the way. The girl took her first steps yesterday. You can read about them -- as well as the rest of our weekend -- on Writing Chapter Three.

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I thought you could use a smile . . .

I think we can file this post in the "Crazy Cat-Lady" category. I'll need to make a new banner for that or something. Anyway, our cats Rivey and Scully have this habit of getting into EVERYTHING. They especially enjoy yarn, as all cats do. No surprises there. But they have this keen sense of knowing the precise moment when yarn becomes accessible to them.

You can see we've had this problem before. This sloppily-wrapped skein with bits of fur tells all . . .


So, though it wasn't totally shocking to come downstairs and find this scene on Saturday afternoon. It was rather hilarious. Yeah. It never gets old . . .



Can you say G.U.I.L.T.Y.?


Well-meaning and meticulous Stephen decided the best method was to clean up as quickly as possible.


Of course, the cats only enjoyed that more . . .




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