Some of you are going to think I've jumped on the crazy wagon.
Maybe you're right.
I've been thinking, reading and "finding on the Internet" about chemicals in household products. I've been finding recipes for home made soaps, detergents and cleaners. While perusing these recipes, I also found a ton of recipes for cheaper versions of products I already use.
Most of my monthly Target trip is (money-wise & physical space wise, anyway) dedicated to cleaners. Some products I'm crazy brand loyal--Tide, Windex, Finish--and some I'm way less so. A lot of those products have extra chemicals (especially the Tide, which has softener, fragrance, and brighteners) and some of those chemicals I'm willing to risk because I like the results (specifically Tide and Finish, where I believe the premium brand is worth it for work saved and water conserved.) Some products are just stupid expensive for what the product I'm getting.
So, I thought I'd brief you with my results of cleaner experimentation. I'm not going to turn this into one of those condescending cleaner woman blogs that tell you what 14 drawers you should be organizing today. But, if I try out a recipe, I'll let you know. If it's worth the extra effort over the cost, if it works as well as the original, if the ingredients are easy to find, you know. As summer comes up, it's a good time to experiment--plenty of time and waaaay less laundry detergent required!
Friday, I cleaned all the inside windows. Since there are 24 windows and many of the upstairs windows have to be washed exterior as well (no access without ladder!) it's a big job. I used a spray bottle of home made Windex, a microfiber rag, and a new squeegee.
For the Windex: 1/8 C ammonia, plain, non sudsing 1.4 C rubbing alcohol 1/4 tsp dish washing detergent (if you use the blue Dawn, your cleaner will be blue like the original). You will also need a spray bottle and water. (Most recipe sites say to use distilled. I didn't have it.)
The verdict: I don't know if this has fewer ingredients than thfar superior to bargain brands. Bargain brands don't use inferior ingredients (I don't think) but they do dilute (it seems). So I find those watery and streaky. It matched up pretty well to the original, and because I have all of those ingredients (ammonia for soaking the gas range grates, the alcohol in a first aid kit and the dish washing detergent under the sink) it was super easy and cost effective. Could definitely stop buying Windex.
So, there. A totally unusual and informative (and useful! WHA?!?) notcinnamon post.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Your Body is a Wonderland?
S is a people person, as they say. He does not like to be alone. EVER. I am able to read his subtle personality traits: he uses the bathroom with the door open, he brings his Legos to play directly at my feet, he insists on taking the dog or (stolen) cat with him to bed.
S hates being alone. He begs for his brother to play with him and bemoans the total lack of playmates on our street. S needs a virtual twin.
E is not a people person. E slinks off to his room whenever there's a lull in conversation--as in, no one is talking to him. He reads alone in the playroom, he watches TV alone while the rest of us are doing other things. E does not like to go bicycling around our block with S or playing in the same room as his parents. He DEFINITELY closes the door to the bathroom now. Especially at bath time. E is not having it.
Of course, nothing brings an 'independent' child like E to his knees faster than a thunderstorm. At six this morning, an tremendous clap of thunder shook the house, and faster than I could roll over and say, "here come the kids," the kids come storming into the bedroom, diving into the bed.
Thunderstorms really don't bring out the best and the bravest around here. By the time the kids were all snuggled in to my bed, the dog was whimpering and shivering as well. He really hasn't been the same since I took him with me once through the car wash, but that's a different tale of woe and crazy.
Five little faces, some furrier and more awake and frightened than others peeked out over the top of the blanket this morning. S huddled close, and tried his best to reassure the pup, and E prattled on because he has a nervous diarrhea of the mouth. As he tries to put on his brave face, he won't stop talking.
After the storm bed-huddle, S moves on to his usual routine: he gathers up his uniform from the cubbies, and brings that and his blankie downstairs to dress in the kitchen with me and the dog and sometimes, the (stolen) cat. He pulls off his jammies, and sits down on the floor nude to pull on his undies. For those of you who visit my house--I mop often, and forbid the use of furniture while nude. The cat ambles on over to say good morning.
"Hey cat, are you comin' over to look at my privates?"
Cat makes an abrupt U-turn. Seriously, like he understood and wanted no part of it.
"It's okay, Cat. My body is a museum."
S stands and makes the Superman pose.
Sometimes I wonder about these kids.
S hates being alone. He begs for his brother to play with him and bemoans the total lack of playmates on our street. S needs a virtual twin.
E is not a people person. E slinks off to his room whenever there's a lull in conversation--as in, no one is talking to him. He reads alone in the playroom, he watches TV alone while the rest of us are doing other things. E does not like to go bicycling around our block with S or playing in the same room as his parents. He DEFINITELY closes the door to the bathroom now. Especially at bath time. E is not having it.
Of course, nothing brings an 'independent' child like E to his knees faster than a thunderstorm. At six this morning, an tremendous clap of thunder shook the house, and faster than I could roll over and say, "here come the kids," the kids come storming into the bedroom, diving into the bed.
Thunderstorms really don't bring out the best and the bravest around here. By the time the kids were all snuggled in to my bed, the dog was whimpering and shivering as well. He really hasn't been the same since I took him with me once through the car wash, but that's a different tale of woe and crazy.
Five little faces, some furrier and more awake and frightened than others peeked out over the top of the blanket this morning. S huddled close, and tried his best to reassure the pup, and E prattled on because he has a nervous diarrhea of the mouth. As he tries to put on his brave face, he won't stop talking.
After the storm bed-huddle, S moves on to his usual routine: he gathers up his uniform from the cubbies, and brings that and his blankie downstairs to dress in the kitchen with me and the dog and sometimes, the (stolen) cat. He pulls off his jammies, and sits down on the floor nude to pull on his undies. For those of you who visit my house--I mop often, and forbid the use of furniture while nude. The cat ambles on over to say good morning.
"Hey cat, are you comin' over to look at my privates?"
Cat makes an abrupt U-turn. Seriously, like he understood and wanted no part of it.
"It's okay, Cat. My body is a museum."
S stands and makes the Superman pose.
Sometimes I wonder about these kids.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
The Cat's in the Cradle, and it's in MY house
I betcha didn't know that I'm a crazy magnet. In the global scheme of things, I suppose the cliche 'it takes one to know one' could possibly apply here, but I'd prefer to think of myself as the shipwreck that grows the reef of crazy.
If you've been to my house, seen my facebook page, or possibly even this blog, you might know we have sort of adopted the neighborhood cat, Cat. Cat is a black and white short haired cat of rather large proportions. He has a cool white milk moustache and the wickedest white whiskers that alliteration can describe. All in all, he has a strong bit of the Cat in the Hat about him.
Cat beats up on the dog with regularity. He often parades around the house with tufts of Clooney fur still sticking out between his retracted claws. Cat is very human oriented, and enjoys being petted and fed. He has a great personality, even if he is eccentric.
We had our first interaction with Cat the week before we bought this house. The realtor's listing said, "Call before appointment, no appointment before 12." (Rumor had it that the owner of the house had a hard time waking in the morning due to the aftereffects of late night scotch.) It also said, "Please do not let neighborhood cat into the house." Which seems like a simple instruction, but Cat seemed to feel entitled to enter. One visit, M, the realtor, and I chased the cat around the house like a bunch of dopes.
When S saw this house for the first time, 8 weeks before we eventually moved in, the cat was lounging in the driveway as though he owned the place. S (2 years old at the time) called this "the cat house" rather than "home" for nearly a year.
On nights when the weather service issues frost warnings or cold weather warnings, we always allow the cat in to sleep in the warm house. He used to sleep in S's bed the most, but he has taken to using ours. During the day, he naps in the guest bedroom, which, unless my parents are in town, is basically Cat's own. And, he has slowly becomed accustomed to living here every night.
Eventually, with all this sleeping and eating in the house, I took Cat to the vet. I spent $200 on feline leukemia shots, rabies, and all the other necessary vaccinations for healthy life as Cat. I figured if we were going to get ringworm, (which S ultimately did) it wasn't going to be from the cat (which it ultimately wasn't).
So, despite the long history with Cat, Crazy didn't really step in until last Thursday.
Thursday night, the daughter of a neighbor calls the house. We will call her Sonoma. Sonoma makes idle chit chat for a while and then proclaims the following:
"My mother, who is blind and suffering from cancer, feels that you have stolen her cat. She doesn't like that you put a bell and collar on a cat that is not yours."
Me: "Great. I'll take off the bell. Is this the number I call for dead squirrel pickup? Are you the Wolf? Do YOU handle dead squirrel storage?"
Sonoma: "I just wanted you to know that you're in posession of stolen property."
Me: "It's not like a) I wanted a cat b) I sought out the cat c) I hold the cat against his will or d) have catnapped the cat. The cat likes it here, because it is warm at night, full of food and people who give it love."
Sonoma: "My mother is upset that you have stolen her cat."
Me: "What is it, exactly, that you want me to do? Since I really feel for you and the illness that has put you in this awkward situation, I don't want to be disrespectful or hurtful, but your mother called the police when she claims she saw a strange cat in her house nearly a year ago. I had to present the animal control people with the rabies tag and ID for Cat so they didn't take him away. I am not sure she is really rocking the cat-care responsibilities."
Sonoma: "I'm just telling you that she's upset that you have stolen her cat."
Me: "You mentioned this. Other than NOT letting Cat in on freezing nights, feeding him, cleaning up his cat yack, combing out his winter fur, paying for his flea repellent & ringworm preventative, letting him out when he wakes up at 3 AM, and loving on him, what would you like me to do?"
Sonoma: "Stop treating the cat like your own. It's not yours."
Me: "Fine. I will be happy to keep Cat out of the house if your mother will explain to my seven year old son who has no reason to believe that the cat is not his, that because your mother is ill and senile, she is unable to share the joy of her cat."
Sonoma: "Would you make my dying mother do that? How heartless are you?"
Me: "I'm not heartless at all. In fact, it is heartbreak that compels me to make this conditon. I will not be able to take the look on my son's face when I tell him he can't have his cat in his bed anymore. Therefore, y'all are going to have to tell him."
Sonoma: "I will not do that."
Me: "It seems your phone call was not well planned out. You have no actual request, no resonable explanation for WHY I didn't know this was your cat for the last six years, or why I should stop caring for a cat that you are clearly NOT caring for."
At this point, M had been waiting for me to restart watching our movie, and was incensed by the utter insanity and unreasonable duration of the conversation. He picked up an extention and gave her the whatfor. Which boiled down to this: "None of the cats your mother claims to own are in any way identified or collared. They are wandering throughout the neighborhood at all times. If you want to be confrontational about this, I can call animal control when I find a non-collared cat on my premises."
Sonoma hung up.
WHAT THE EVERLOVING HELL IS THAT? I feel bad for aged people suffering from disease, and facing what is certainly a painful, lonely end of life. I'm not a monster. But on what grounds did Sonoma have to share her family's misery and slight insanity with me? I was just minding my business.
I couldn't take the stress of wondering what would happen to Cat.
I had him microchipped on Friday. With all my information. I told the vet the whole story, and was perfectly straightforward with him.
I'm officially a cat owner now, I guess. Ugh.
If you've been to my house, seen my facebook page, or possibly even this blog, you might know we have sort of adopted the neighborhood cat, Cat. Cat is a black and white short haired cat of rather large proportions. He has a cool white milk moustache and the wickedest white whiskers that alliteration can describe. All in all, he has a strong bit of the Cat in the Hat about him.
Cat beats up on the dog with regularity. He often parades around the house with tufts of Clooney fur still sticking out between his retracted claws. Cat is very human oriented, and enjoys being petted and fed. He has a great personality, even if he is eccentric.
We had our first interaction with Cat the week before we bought this house. The realtor's listing said, "Call before appointment, no appointment before 12." (Rumor had it that the owner of the house had a hard time waking in the morning due to the aftereffects of late night scotch.) It also said, "Please do not let neighborhood cat into the house." Which seems like a simple instruction, but Cat seemed to feel entitled to enter. One visit, M, the realtor, and I chased the cat around the house like a bunch of dopes.
When S saw this house for the first time, 8 weeks before we eventually moved in, the cat was lounging in the driveway as though he owned the place. S (2 years old at the time) called this "the cat house" rather than "home" for nearly a year.
On nights when the weather service issues frost warnings or cold weather warnings, we always allow the cat in to sleep in the warm house. He used to sleep in S's bed the most, but he has taken to using ours. During the day, he naps in the guest bedroom, which, unless my parents are in town, is basically Cat's own. And, he has slowly becomed accustomed to living here every night.
Eventually, with all this sleeping and eating in the house, I took Cat to the vet. I spent $200 on feline leukemia shots, rabies, and all the other necessary vaccinations for healthy life as Cat. I figured if we were going to get ringworm, (which S ultimately did) it wasn't going to be from the cat (which it ultimately wasn't).
So, despite the long history with Cat, Crazy didn't really step in until last Thursday.
Thursday night, the daughter of a neighbor calls the house. We will call her Sonoma. Sonoma makes idle chit chat for a while and then proclaims the following:
"My mother, who is blind and suffering from cancer, feels that you have stolen her cat. She doesn't like that you put a bell and collar on a cat that is not yours."
Me: "Great. I'll take off the bell. Is this the number I call for dead squirrel pickup? Are you the Wolf? Do YOU handle dead squirrel storage?"
Sonoma: "I just wanted you to know that you're in posession of stolen property."
Me: "It's not like a) I wanted a cat b) I sought out the cat c) I hold the cat against his will or d) have catnapped the cat. The cat likes it here, because it is warm at night, full of food and people who give it love."
Sonoma: "My mother is upset that you have stolen her cat."
Me: "What is it, exactly, that you want me to do? Since I really feel for you and the illness that has put you in this awkward situation, I don't want to be disrespectful or hurtful, but your mother called the police when she claims she saw a strange cat in her house nearly a year ago. I had to present the animal control people with the rabies tag and ID for Cat so they didn't take him away. I am not sure she is really rocking the cat-care responsibilities."
Sonoma: "I'm just telling you that she's upset that you have stolen her cat."
Me: "You mentioned this. Other than NOT letting Cat in on freezing nights, feeding him, cleaning up his cat yack, combing out his winter fur, paying for his flea repellent & ringworm preventative, letting him out when he wakes up at 3 AM, and loving on him, what would you like me to do?"
Sonoma: "Stop treating the cat like your own. It's not yours."
Me: "Fine. I will be happy to keep Cat out of the house if your mother will explain to my seven year old son who has no reason to believe that the cat is not his, that because your mother is ill and senile, she is unable to share the joy of her cat."
Sonoma: "Would you make my dying mother do that? How heartless are you?"
Me: "I'm not heartless at all. In fact, it is heartbreak that compels me to make this conditon. I will not be able to take the look on my son's face when I tell him he can't have his cat in his bed anymore. Therefore, y'all are going to have to tell him."
Sonoma: "I will not do that."
Me: "It seems your phone call was not well planned out. You have no actual request, no resonable explanation for WHY I didn't know this was your cat for the last six years, or why I should stop caring for a cat that you are clearly NOT caring for."
At this point, M had been waiting for me to restart watching our movie, and was incensed by the utter insanity and unreasonable duration of the conversation. He picked up an extention and gave her the whatfor. Which boiled down to this: "None of the cats your mother claims to own are in any way identified or collared. They are wandering throughout the neighborhood at all times. If you want to be confrontational about this, I can call animal control when I find a non-collared cat on my premises."
Sonoma hung up.
WHAT THE EVERLOVING HELL IS THAT? I feel bad for aged people suffering from disease, and facing what is certainly a painful, lonely end of life. I'm not a monster. But on what grounds did Sonoma have to share her family's misery and slight insanity with me? I was just minding my business.
I couldn't take the stress of wondering what would happen to Cat.
I had him microchipped on Friday. With all my information. I told the vet the whole story, and was perfectly straightforward with him.
I'm officially a cat owner now, I guess. Ugh.
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