Take the Challenge: Advent Deep Cleaning, Week 1

For the past few years, we have invited the congregation over to our house the week of Christmas for an open house.  I spend weeks baking cookies, decorating the house, creating Christmas playlists.  What I usually don't do is spend weeks cleaning.  I have the tendency to leave that for the couple days before the open house, then spend hours cleaning.

Since deep cleaning is an long-held Advent tradition, I'm changing things up a bit this year.  I've divided my house into four areas, and each week I'll focus on deep-cleaning as much of that area as possible.  Care to join me?   I'll post a list at the beginning of each week of what area I intend to clean, and at the end of the week report what I actually accomplished!  You can use my list, make your own, or just wish I'd come and do your house, too.

This week, I'm focusing on the kitchen. I spend most of my time in the kitchen, and once clean, I'll be able to get to work on all those cookies I'm needing to bake.

I'll aim to accomplish a few items each day, and hopefully, by the end of the week, the kitchen will be a happier place. 

Here's the week's list of cleaning:

-Clean all refrigerator shelves, and drawers
-Clean top of refrigerator
-Scrub sink and surrounding areas
-Scrub counters
-Empty and clean utensil drawers
-Wipe down cupboard doors and drawers, fronts of appliances
-Scrub microwave
-Scrub stove, inside, out, and under burners (and those nasty grease filters in the exhaust fan)
-Mop floor
-Reorganize pantry
-Clean trashcan

Perhaps I'm dreaming big, but I have already cleaned the fridge, reorganized the pantry, and scrubbed the sink.

What's on your cleaning list this week?

Five-year-old James Joyce

Are there always tornadoes in June?
Are there tornadoes every day in June? What about across the Great Atlantic Ocean?
What is a sharpie for? How do you get sharpie off of stuff? Is it called sharpie get-off soap? Would water work to take it off? Why would you want to write something you can't get off?
When will you be done writing? I wish I was God, because then I could do anything I wanted.

How can Meta-Knight turn into a tornado anyway?
How does Mario shoot fireballs out of his hands?
Where is this made in? Why does this kind of look like a stapler? But it doesn't do the same thing? Why does this move back and forth?  Do some things have the thing you press down and the ink comes off things and it makes the label?
What does evangelical mean?

I'm very strong. I bet I could knock a whole window down in one bash.  I bet I could throw that and it could get damaged pretty well.  I'm that strong.
Pikachu. Pikachu. Pikachu. Pikachu.
How come when I pick Pikachu on Super Squash Brothers, my controller goes "Uh-oy"?
The bullets go on the tornado. The light from the moon shines on Pikachu and that means he will save them.

How come there are different ways to label things? Can these labels stay on forever. Can the ink labels stay on forever? What if you use printer ink? How come the stuff on your calendar ink never comes off?

Squirrel noises.
For Amber's next birthday, I'm thinking we should buy her a Sophia dress.  She has all the other supplies but not the dress.
Dad? You know the thing where you sit on at Bible Study? Sometimes we use that and put some preschool clothes on it and that makes a stand because nothing else makes a stand, well I think so, but there might be something else that does, I don't know, there might be and there might not.

Dashi, I'm already on it.  I'm already on it, Captain. I'm already on it, Captain. I'm already on it Captain. I'm already on it, Captain.
Humming "Octonauts" theme.
Dad, is it okay if I erase some of your Bible Study things? I won't erase them all.  I just need a spot to draw a computer.

The lab launch will never end.  It's a good spot on the earth. But there is a spot where I can slide back to earth.

If only

My son forgot to do his chores last week.  He forgot to do them the week before, as well. Consequently, he ran out of pajamas.  Without knowing that his hamper was overflowing, I didn't wash a bit of his laundry for two weeks.  I marvel at the fact that he has enough pajamas to last him that long, but that's another story.  For this story, it's only essential to know that he had run out night clothes, and his dresser drawers were quickly emptying.

At first, I decided this was a prime opportunity for him to learn the importance of pushing his hamper to the laundry room each week; but soon, I was overcome by guilt, and I determined it was necessary for the lesson to be hastened.  "No friends," I declared, "until the chores are done."  With much weeping and gnashing of teeth, he completed his chores, and I started sorting.

Everything was going according to plan, and I was scheduled to finished his laundry by the time he came home from playing with friends.  I turned the water on in the washer and added soap, when I noticed a wadded-up brown sock left in the tub from a load I couldn't remember doing.  I debated- I could get it out, and it would be soaking wet, and likely smelly from sitting wet in the washer for who knows how long; or, I could leave it, and let it wash with the clothes, and figure out where it belongs later.  The latter was the more logical option; after all, it would need to be washed.  I defied logic.   I reached for the sock.

It was squishier and furrier than I expected.  Then I noticed its tail.  The "wadded-up brown sock" dropped back into the water, and I saw it for what it was: a mouse.  A dead mouse. And I had touched it.

I did what any reasonable human being would do after that.  I washed my hands (twice? three times? more?  Was there any soap left in the dispenser when I was done?) and considered soaking them in bleach.

Then I turned my attention to the matter of the mouse, which was still lying on the bottom of the wash tub with its tail bobbing along in the dissolving ripples.  I thought of fleas and mice, germs and viruses, plagues and death.  I had to rid that machine of mouse and death.  It could not be trusted to launder my son's pajamas without infecting them with mouse. I began calculating the amount of bleach I would have to purchase to make an effective 9:1 ratio to disinfect the 45 gallon basin.  Now I might be a poor math student, but even I easily figured out that this seemed like a ridiculous amount of bleach, and I still wasn't sure it would be effective, given the fact that it wouldn't remove the mouse for me. Cleaning and disinfecting are fine measures when the mouse is no longer present.  There was still a dead mouse in this machine, and its  disease-ridden tail was still waving gently in the water.  This machine needed more than a kindly bleach rinse. This machine needed purging.

I envisioned dragging the machine to the backyard and filling the tub with gasoline.  45 gallons of undiluted fuel.  When lit, the flames would surely reach the tops of the Ponderosa Pines that mark our property line, and the temperatures would obliterate any trace of Hantavirus the rodent had left in the tub.  The heat would probably destroy the machine, and I'd need a new one so I could wash my son's jammies.   Neighbors would call the fire department, sirens would blare, dogs would howl, and police would arrive.  But what a glorious thought.  Already I could hear the Hallelujah Chorus sounding as the gas ignited and the flames rose into the air. Before the police would lead me away in cuffs, and the department extinguished the blaze, I would raise my arms and dance around that majestic bonfire, for I had won.  I had vanquished that dead mouse and its filth.  I had faced bubonic plague and come out unscathed.  I had rescued my family from death's grip, and my joy would not be contained.  I would be replete!

In reality, I called my husband.  We opted for a less theatrical approach.  He disposed of the mouse, heroically fishing it out of the washer with a blue disposable cup while singing a new version of Toby Keith's famous refrain: Blue Solo cup/you scoop me up.   He added a few cups of bleach to the water and let the load run.  He even did the loads of laundry I had left sorted on the floor. It was, indeed, less dramatic than I imagined.

This is why we can't have nice stuff

I can't blame this on my kid.  It's all the fault of the adults.

Seriously, who goes through this many meat
thermometers, and keeps them?

Here's what you shouldn't do with meat thermometers.

You shouldn't put them close to the burners when they're on.  It melts the plastic cover, and makes the numbers difficult to read. (My fault.)

You shouldn't put the meat back in the oven with the thermometer still in it.  The plastic cover pops off, and the sensor is forever ruined. (My husband's fault.)

You shouldn't put them in the garbage disposal.  They break. (Both our faults.)

Award Night

Last Friday, I told my son he could invite his friends over today.

I delayed making arrangements this morning.  I kept hoping he'd throw up or something so I could avoid dealing with extra children and take a nap this afternoon.


Mother of the year, indeed.

It's beginning to look a lot like Advent!

I'm not one to rush the holidays. I love Christmas trees and lights and wreaths as much as the next guy. I enjoy decorating my house with evergreen and Nativity sets, baking Christmas cookies, and opening presents. I dream of sitting by a fireplace and listening to Christmas carols as the evening comes.  Heck, I'd even throw a campout party in the living room and sleep under the tree if I didn't fear my husband would look at me cock-eyed for suggesting it.  Christmas has a place in my heart.

Christmas also has a place on calendar.  I respect its place at the end of December, and I leave Thanksgiving to November.  We also spend the four weeks leading up to Christmas celebrating Advent.

Something prompted me, however, to give a little bit of premature thought to the December Holidays, however.  The dear ladies over here have started a little party, trimmed in purple (or blue, depending on your church), and cloaked in patience.  It's an Advent party.  Since Advent begins in a few weeks, I thought I'd join in a bit early in case anyone wanted to use my ideas.

Here's what advent looks like at our house:

If you think that's a dead branch hot-glued into a stump I found in our wood pile, you'd be right.  It's our Jesse tree. ("There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit." Is. 11:1)  Each day, beginning on December 1st, with our evening devotions, we read a Bible story that tells the story of Christ beginning with Creation, and add one ornament:

As this refuses to rotate, no matter how I try, you'll have to go with it.

Throughout Advent, we walk through the stories of the Bible and see why Christ had to come. Most of the ornaments are well-known Bible stories.  The last eight before Christmas are the O Antiphons.  As the ornaments are added to the tree, it becomes lovelier.

You can do a search for "Jesse Tree" and find many great resources. There are kid-friendly symbols, or elaborate designs; some simple black-and-white coloring pieces, some cut from foam.  The stories even vary from resource to resource.  Some include the O Antiphons, others don't.  I'm partial to great art, and love stained glass, so I used the resources found here for ours. She has the ornaments available for free in PDF.  I simplified her procedure, mostly because I didn't have all the cool stuff she did, and I was a bit frantic. It was December 1st.  I don't recommend waiting that long to start making them.

However, last year, I did make up a Jesse Tree program for the Advent Tea the ladies do at church. While many of the stories are the same, I based it on Christ's lineage and the Jesse Tree stained glass windows in many great cathedrals. The stories toward the end include some lesser-known stories of the kings from David to Zerubabbel, before switching to John the Baptist, Mary and Joseph.  Also, I only made 18 of them, which leaves room for the O Antiphons. (We only had 45 minutes for the tea). The ornaments are quite large, as we were hanging them a Jesse Tree six feet high in the front of church.  If you're interested in seeing it or using it, I can send a copy your way.

Of course, we do a number of other things to celebrate Advent (fasting, noon prayer services at church, decorating the house slowly over the weeks, baking and freezing cookies, deep cleaning the house, listening to Advent hymns, etc.), but I think the Jesse Tree is sufficient for one post.

Check out the Advent Link-up party at Sister, Daughter, Mother, Wife.  There are some great ideas!

There's something in a Sunday

Sunday mornings are tough.  Somewhere between the struggle to put down the trains and put on church clothes, the two of us have successfully broken the first five commandments, and finally show up for church with our angry eyes.  I'm sure most parents have heard the same complaints: There's nothing for me to do at church.  Church takes too long. Church isn't fun. I don't want to think about Jesus, I want to think about trains!

Imagine my surprise then, on Tuesday morning, when my child starts proclaiming the truth about church.

"God doesn't give us too many gifts at church.  He just gives us a few.  He gives us his Word."

"But what does His Word produce?"

"Faith."

"And what does faith give us?"

"Life and salvation.  But that's only two gifts."

"But they are very valuable gifts."

"And no one can steal them from us. And these are the gifts we should rejoice.  And if anyone came to my house to try to steal them, I would say, 'Sorry, Jesus died for me and saved me from my sin.'"

So there it is.  The sound of a Sunday morning coming down might seem awful lonesome to me, and the congregation may be sick of our angry eyes, but my child's faith is growing, despite his stubborn sinful nature.