Flylady Thoughts and other things

I've left FlyLady. I'll give you a second to get over your sarcastic gasps. Ready? Good.

"But you said it works when you do it!" you might be thinking. Yes, I did. And it does. See, I've been doing what the FlyLady circle calls "fluttering" for the past few years without really being able to stick with it. But I trusted. Really. I didn't like to wear lace up shoes in the house, but I did. I didn't see a point to going to clean off certain things, but I did. I did all that stuff on and off. But I just couldn't stick with it. Sometimes I felt guilty, sometimes I felt talked down to, sometimes I was offended. Of course, FlyLady NEVER meant for me to take anything she ever said in that way. But that didn't stop me.

I started to really waiver when she said something in an email that took me back a few steps. I waivered a bit more when she announced that the emails are the backbone of her system (waaaay too many emails and mostly about testimonials and products that I don't need). The last straw came when she said something on facebook that really made me go "ALL STOP!"

Don't get me wrong. She's changed a lot of lives. She changed mine. I learned a lot that I'll be carrying with me, like using a timer (seriously, do it), noticing how one clean spot makes you want to clean more, beware of how clutter attracts clutter, and just letting things go. For that, I'll always thank her. But I think it's just not working for me and it's time for me to try something else. Maybe I'll be back. Maybe I won't. Maybe I've learned enough.

Now on to other things! Check out what Husband and I found at our local seafood market:
It's called Golden Crab, a cousin to the King Crabs. It's about $3-4 a pound in our area, and it is delish. And messy. REALLY messy.

So that's what we cooked, now look what we, as a family, built for this year's Pinewood Derby:
Sing it with me now! Doobie-doobie-doo-wah! It's Peeeerry! Perry the Derby Car! If you've got kids of a certain age, the song is now running through your head. You're welcome. But if you don't, this is Perry the Platypus, both pet and secret agent on the Disney show Phineas and Ferb. Don't you want to build one now? Come on. You know you do.

Speaking of off to other things, I believe I hear two baskets full of clean laundry that need to be folded calling me.

Adultness

Adultness: noun (I think? A noun is a person, place, thing, or idea. This is an idea, I think. Noun, right? Let's go with noun.) The level and number of adult behaviors experienced in a given time.

I just got done reading another blogger's account of trying to be an adult and then getting worn out to the point that she rebels. Sometimes I feel like that.

As of the time that I am writing this post (Wednesday, January 19th, 1:31pm), I'm struggling with that myself.

Today, I have folded laundry. Then I washed more. Then I explored the different uses of "green" cleaners and scrubbed the white grout of my kitchen counters. I did the dishes. I picked up toys. I made breakfast and lunches for everyone.

This afternoon, I'm going to make dinner. Like an adult. Dinner is usually Husband's area because he is better at it than me and doesn't mind it. (Although, I am one awesome baker/bread maker. Just saying. Look, I'll prove it.)
(See? I make bread about twice a week. From scratch. Look how responsible I am.)

Anyway, today I'm going to make a duck. Yes, a duck. A raw one. I'm going to cook it. Like an adult. I'm going to have to touch *gag* the raw duck. Like an adult.

And I'm about to clean up some more because another adult is coming over to talk about schooling. Two adults. Talking. Talking about adult things.

Domestic Glitch Part 2

Click here for part I.

Domestic Glitch: noun. An instance when a person tries their hardest to run a smooth household, but something still goes wrong.

A few weeks ago, Husband had to go away for a few days on business. I decided to use that time to try out some new recipes.

Husband is usually the one who cooks. He took over that responsibility while I was pregnant with Monkey Son #2 (or somewhere there abouts). He's fantastic at it, really, but sometimes I feel like I'm not doing my full job by letting him do the cooking, even if he is better at it than I am.

One problem I have with cooking is raw meat skeeves me out. I hate it. The look, the feel...yuck! I feel like I can never quite get my hands clean enough after handling it. Don't get me wrong. On nights when Husband doesn't want to cook, I do cook for him and I have no problem doing that. But I don't enjoy it. Every time we watch a cooking show where they are patting the meat as they tell you about it, I cringe. The other day we watched The Sandlot, and Small's step-father put a frozen steak on Small's black eye...I was squirming.

So, that's why I don't like cooking. But I, as usual, digress. What I want to tell you about is the butternut squash soup I made while Husband was away. It was fantastic and no raw meat involved. It was so good, I made another batch the day Husband came home. He wasn't interested in it, but I gave him a bite later, and his reaction was terrible. He pulled back, made a face, and shuddered like it was the worst thing he had ever had. Oh, dear.

I didn't know he didn't like squash.

"OK, well, I won't make it anymore, then," I said.

"No, no, no. You can still make it for you," he replied.

But I won't be making it. It takes an hour or so for all the pre-roasting and slicing and washing and prepping to make this soup. I'm not going through all that just for me.

Magic Baby

Magic Baby: noun. Any child that does something that makes the parents wonder how he/she did it.

I gave Monkey Son #2 a few potato chips today. I know, I know. It's the evil junk food. But it is one of our few junk food vices, so be patient with me. It's not like I give my children tons of potato chips every day. Monkey Son #1 gets them rarely, and Monkey Son #2 even rarer than that.

At any rate, today I gave both of them some chips. Afterwards, Monkey Son #1 ran off to play, and I took Monkey Son #2 out of his high chair. A few minutes later, Monkey Son #2 walked by with another chip.

Wait. Where did he get that? I thought he must have had it in his hand when I took him out of his high chair. Only a few minutes later, he had another one.

I looked at the counter. The chip container was still there, closed, and out of reach. So...where was he getting these chips? Was there a secret pile somewhere? Did I spill some? I seriously had no idea how he was magically coming up with extra Doritos.

Something made me look toward the living room. There, at the end of the couch, was a plate with chips on it. As I watched, Monkey Son #2 went over to the plate and took one. I really must talk to Monkey Son #1 about leaving plates of food everywhere.