Two Cents Tuesday: Workin' my Nerves!

I did it! I've been threatening and I did it. I vlogged Two Cents this week. Sorry to those of you who read me from work and can't bust yourselves. It'll still be here tonight. In the meantime you can all go read the other Two Cents over at Jen's place. There are some really great writers over there and you could be among them. Because let's face it, we all have Two Cents about something!

My Blogging Pet Peeve, Pledge and Olives.

Boring.

I know when I first started blogging watching paint dry was a highlight but I have learned and I have tried to change it up. I work very hard at it every day. I try to pepper in some funny here and there. I even share some of my deep personal reflections on mental health from time to time. But I do not post the same stuff day in and day out. I try to mix it up.

We bloggers live for comments. We can have 974 followers and 82 email subscribers through various reader services but if not a one of you leave a comment we feel like we have failed. Like we are a total waste of URL.

But I say if we are boring you to tears, then we don't deserve a comment. We deserve to sit in our squeaky office chairs and type our fingers to bloody nubs and get nothing in return. I just went through 29 posts from other bloggers. And when I tried to read through their various pages I was reading the same post over, and over, and over.

I beg you to do something for me. Should this blog or The Zoo for that matter ever get redundant and bland and drab and olive, I plead with you to leave me one comment that says, "Olive." It will be our little safe word. I'll know exactly what that comment means and I will redouble, retriple, re whatever my efforts to change things up and make them worth your visit.

And if you are a blogger and you get a comment from me that says, "Olive" know that I mean it in love. I mean it to remind you that olives come in different colors and stuffings and flavors and seasons. So should your blog.

A Word about Obsessions

Now I would not say I'm obsessive compulsive. I would say that I have anal tendencies maybe - but compulsive? I'm not that extreme. But there are some things that have to be done a certain way for me.

The paper towels and toilet paper. The have to be replaced in a timely fashion and they have to come over the top. If you intend to post a comment telling me that under the bottom is the correct way, don't waste your time. You will never convince me of this.

Squeezing the toothpaste from the bottom. You have no idea how many times I have wanted to buy Beloved and I separate tubes of toothpaste. It just has to be done that way because it's neater.

Unloading the dishwasher. You start with the plates, move to the cups and glasses and finish with the silverware. Don't hand me two sippy cups and then a plate! That just doesn't make sense! And please take the time to stack the silverware before you put it in the drawer. I can't stand a jumbled silverware tray.

As much as I hate doing it, I would rather fold my own laundry thank you. T shirts have to be smoothed. Towels get folded into squares and piles are sorted as you fold into their proper organizational categories.

I'm not obsessive. I just know what works for me and I prefer to do it that way. Ok. So maybe I was closer with the "anal" idea but I don't like the sound of that word. I'm "particular." That's better!

What are you "particular" about?

Should you Ever Come to Visit...

Here are the rules.

*If it's empty, throw it away or fill it back up.

*If it's dirty, put it in the dishwasher, washing machine, diaper pail or bathtub.

*If you can't stand due to physical disability, I will serve you. Otherwise, get off your bum and get it yourself.

*I only wipe 2 behinds other than my own (and one of those I wish I didn't have to deal with). You're on your own there.

*If you have something to say to me, say it. Don't mumble, grumble, whine, or raise your voice in anyway. That just turns my ears off.

*Wipe your feet.

*Cover your cough.

*Use a tissue.

*Keep the TV low.

*Call before you come. Don't ring the doorbell when you get here. And don't throw the ball. Those last two just make the dog crazy and you'll never come back.

Other than that, I think we'll be ok.

Think I should forward this to my hubby?

Leave a Message Already!!

**The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. (No clue who said it but they are pretty much right!)**

There has been a phone number calling me on the hour every hour for the last two days. And you say, "Well, why don't you answer it?" Because I don't know anyone from the Miami area of Florida. But I have another question.

Why won't these people leave a message? I DO have voice mail. It is NOT full. I check it regularly and if you are someone I know or someone I need to call back, I call you back. But guess what?

If you don't leave a message, I STILL have no idea who you are and therefore will continue to ignore your call. So we can keep playing this game of me ignoring you and you wasting your time but know this, if your insanity wakes my children up from a much needed nap, I WILL be calling the phone company and blocking your number just for harassment.

Leave the message already! You obviously WANT to talk to me or you wouldn't call every hour. How do you know I'm not in a hospital somewhere with an executive assistant returning my calls? How is Wonder Kid supposed to know she's supposed to call you back if you don't leave a message?

Please! When you call someone, if they don't answer the phone unless they are family or a BFF whose number you know and dial in your sleep.....LEAVE A MESSAGE ALREADY!!!

The Playroom from the Nether Regions.

My office (ok, so it's my desk) sits right next to the playroom. I hate it - the playroom I mean. I am kind of fond of my desk. The chair is really comfy. And it spins. What was I saying?

Oh yeah! The playroom. I hate it. It will not stay tidy. I know it will never be "clean." It IS a playroom after all. But does it have to look like Kansas in the summer all the time? I would just like to be able to see the Emerald City carpet for more than minutes at a time.

Ok, so I am not the most disciplined about making sure the kids put away the toys when they are done. And I should probably stop letting them bring snacks down if I would like to stop stepping in questionable stuff. The funky smell would probably diminish if I would make sure the sippy cups got back upstairs at the end of the day.

But I guess the part that bothers me most is when we clean up. I end up doing the lion's share of the work. The whining that goes with the cleaning is enough to make me want to throw everything out and tell them to stare at the walls. And I forget that five and three year olds have yet to figure out logic. So when I say, "I didn't play with them - I shouldn't be cleaning them up" it pretty much qualifies as wasted breath.

Beloved reminded me that once upon a time (when we first moved in three short years ago) this was OUR den. Our place to hang out after the kids went to bed. Soft lighting, over stuffed couch, a little entertainment center with TV and DVD. A haven if you will.

Now the flourescents are on all day every day glaring at me from above like I am a burger on a warmer. The couch has been chewed up, juiced up, and recovered twice. The entertainment center has become combination entertainment center, toy chest and art board. No more haven. Just a playroom.

But it keeps them happy and I can referee the wrestling matches from my comfy spinning chair. I guess I can make the sacrifice to the Playroom gods.

It's Called a What?

Oh, that's right! It's called a dish - WASHER! Silly me!

Now I am not one to lose my mind and rip off a good vent unless someone has pushed me. Well, guess what? That's a hand print in the middle of my back!

After church yesterday I made a dash out to the grocery store with the girls so that I would be able to combine trips. (By the way, don't come to GA if you are looking for gas. We don't have it! Another day for that one.) I called home to see if Beloved wanted something special for lunch while I was out and got the following lecture.

B: No. I'm fine. And that was the end of the call. But no sooner did I put my phone back in my purse than it was ringing again.

B: Can you do something for me?

Me: Oh, you decided what you want?

B: No. I don't want anything. But will you please wash the dishes before you put them in the dishwasher? I'm cleaning up the kitchen (wait for me to pick myself up off the floor) and there are dishes in here with little bits of food all over them.

Me: Are you kidding me? This rhetorical question asked so incredulously was answered with a three minute lecture about how it's hard on the dishwasher to have to clean food off of dishes and how our dishwasher (which is run a minimum of twice a day) is going to start drawing bugs.

The lecture would have lasted longer but I oh so politely excused myself from the conversation (ok, so I hung up on him!) and went about my shopping. Now this has had time to simmer in me and it's getting a little like a bad pot of chili. I keep getting hotter and hotter.

It is called a dish-washer. I put dish detergent in it. The argument is that it only serves to sanitize the dishes. Then why is NO ONE using actual soap and scrubbing on the dishes before they go in? Why am I not buying a sanitizing rinse to put in there instead?

I rinse the dishes before they go in so they are food free. Sure there are specks of ketchup left behind sometimes but it's a dish WASHER! And maybe I would be able to shake it off, but my darling Beloved has found a way to effectively restrain his cleaning urges. Yes, I have said the phrase "lift your feet" to him when vacuuming. So now he suddenly can tell me that I am going about things the wrong way?

Has he avoided eating off of dishes I have loaded in the dishWASHER my way? Nope!

Has he come down with some flesh eating virus he ingested from my dishes? Not yet!

Has the exterminator moved into the playroom? Absolutely not!

So what is the major malfunction? After lunch today I intentionally put a peanut butter covered bowl in the "dish sanitizer" just to get his goat when he gets home from work tonight. Tomorrow it's going to be a plate slathered in mustard and egg stuff. That'll teach him!