Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

So I had a wonderful experience last night. To tell the story properly, I must give some background. Our basement has been in a state of remodel for the last ten years. (See here for bathroom story.) Two years ago, my dear husband finished framing the walls and I got my storage room back. I painted it and filled it with boxes and general clutter. The only problem was that he never finished the light for the room. So we've had electrical wires hanging out in two places on the wall right inside room. Wires that weren't covered with those cute colored electrical caps. (Can you see where I'm going with this?)

Last night, I went to store some shoes for Sunshine and I guess I hit against the wires with my hip, and there were some sparks, and, well, my pants caught on fire. Not badly, but how bad does it really have to be? It melted a corner of my pocket and blackened a nice area on my favorite capris.

I was a little upset. I called my dear husband and left him a voice message. I'm guessing that I sounded pretty pissy because when he came home he headed for the basement and fixed the light.

So, guess what? I have a light in my storage room! It only took two years and one hour. And a sacrificial pair of pants. Yeah!

Compost and summer

I can't believe how much of summer is already gone. It's time to start thinking about shopping for school clothes. I'm just getting used to the summer schedule, which means we'll be switching schedules soon.

I decided to start a compost bin this summer. I've been wanting to do one for a few years. I love the whole idea of it. Your food scraps go into it, making a purpose to all the food my children waste. Your yard scraps go into it, saving space in the landfields. It benefits your garden and flowers by adding valuable nutrients....blah blah blah. So I started with a simple compost bin, made from a rubber garbage can. You just have to find one with a tight lid and cut a few holes on the sides for ventilation. Okay, done! I was so proud of myself. I even bought some bricks and placed them in the garden for the compost bin to sit on.

I added some scraps, a little water and let it sit. Few days later, I rotated the compost bin by turning it on its side and rolling it a bit. Added more scraps, and a few weeks later was well on my way to making some awesome compost.

Then I found a hard piece of toast on the bathroom floor with a noodle stuck on it. I became a little suspicious. Out to the compost bin - I found that my dog had pried away one of the sides to the lid (the compost bin was laying on its side) and she had dug out some food. Gross! I lifted the can and discovered that the lid was no longer tight. Okay. Plan B. Just roll it around each day but leave it standing upright. Well, that didn't work either because it leaked when I was rolling it around. I also suspect that the sprinkler was adding more water through those venting holes placed in the sides. It was really yikey. (Yes, yikey is a word.)

I decided to ban the compost bin. I dumped all the contents into a garbage bag. It was the worst smell I have ever smelled, and with five kids, that is saying a lot. I mean it was a really horrible smell. I gagged.

I tried, I failed. Next year I'll just send dear hubby to the argricultural site to buy a truckload of compost. Much safer choice.

Four kids equals how many plastic cups?

I'm getting a new wood floor and dishwasher in my kitchen this week. Dear hubby took out the dishwasher last night after making sure I was okay with the idea. He is so trained. Anyway, I asked him to run one more load of dishes so I only had to deal with breakfast dishes today. As a side note, let me mention that I really dislike washing dishes. My hands don't feel pampered soaking in hot soapy water. Instead, they feel dry, and my nails are so soft that they bend and break. I don't like it. At all.

Okay, so the dishwasher is out on the back deck, tossed out for the lastest, greatest, newest dishwasher available. That's a whole other blog. Breakfast is over, lunch is over (take-out leaves no dirty dishes) and I just washed the breakfast dishes. Well, I washed the bowls, spoons, and seventeen plastic cups. Seventeen. I had four kids home last night. Figure one each last night, one each this morning, count with me here. How did we get to seventeen? Are the cups multiplying during the night?

Last summer I took the kids to the store and they each picked out their own unique plastic cup. (Never mind that this is a margarita cup and this one is a wine glass.) My idea was that they would use their cup each day, one cup, and they would know it was theirs because, well, they picked it out. It didn't work very well because they didn't want to put soda pop in the same cup they had put milk in earlier. It was a good idea, just didn't take. I think I'll instigate this Unique Cup Program again and show them how to wash their cup between drinks.

Super-dads and bathroom transformations

Homes that have a super-mom always have a super-dad. It's a requirement. Our super-dad is so super and amazing that he is able to transform a perfectly good bathroom into a pile of rubbish in 2 hours. Let me tell you how this amazing feat was possible.

We had a home with a finished basement. Had. As in, don't now. In this basement was a beautiful, 1970's style carpet, complete with shag in colors ranging from orange to brown to black. During my pregnancy with our fourth child, I went through one of those bizarre moods where something must be done - and my mission was this carpet. I did not care (I actually said this out loud) if we had a cement floor for five years, I wanted this carpet out. That week. My husband understands me well enough to know that if he doesn't do it, I will do it myself. So on a Sunday morning he quietly left church early to go home and tear out the carpet. Please note the word "carpet" here.

When we came home two hours later, we found super-dad standing in the "I once was a bathroom" with hard hat and sledge hammer in tow. Did I mention that he was standing on the broken remnants of the tiled shower? He had torn out the shower, all the walls, removed the toilet and sink, and was pulling out the insulation. His plan was to build a bigger bathroom, so he had torn out my storage closet as well. All the storage boxes were piled in the garage. See, this bathroom had always bothered him. It bothered me too, but it was downstairs, used by one child, and I didn't ever see it. Okay, it didn't bother me that much.

He did take out the carpet in the rest of the basement first. I mean, as long as you are removing carpet, you might as well tear out a bathroom, right? I'm still trying to figure out what he was thinking. I think it's one of those Mars vs. Venus things. The thing that really confuses me is that we had no plans to remodel that bathroom.

So, here we are. That child I was pregnant with is now 5 years old. (Remember my remark about 5 years of cement floor?) Yes, the floor is still cement. The bathroom has been framed (framing is a long and difficult process that requires years to complete). We are carpeting the basement some day in the not-so-distant future. Someday when I decide I've had it and go paint the walls myself. Unless super-dad steps in and decides that as long as we are painting the walls, we might as well tear out the fireplace. Hey, that reminds me of the mouse books. Maybe I can write a children's book based on this. It would go something like this:

Hubby's To-Do List

Dear hubby had a to-do list. It said "tear out basement carpet". He went down the stairs. Hubby started to tear out the carpet. Then he saw the bathroom. Well, if you are going to tear out the carpet, you might as well tear out the bathroom too. So hubby tore out the bathroom.

When hubby was done, he was thirsty. He got a drink. While he was drinking his Pepsi, he saw the grass outside. It was covered in weeds. He thought he should tear it out too. So he did.

Then he turned on the sprinklers to rinse off his hands. The sprinklers weren't working, so he tore those out. When he was done, he saw that there was mud where the sprinklers had been. So he put some grass in the holes.

Seeing the grass made him think of his carpet. That reminded him that he still needed to tear out the carpet downstairs. So hubby went down the stairs again.

What do you think? Think I can find a publisher? Know anyone that does home repairs?

Carpet gremlins and cold medicine

Why is it that all the pieces of paper, lint, strings, etc. always find the edge of the carpet to reside? Is there some carpet gremlin that creeps in at night and moves everything to the edge? I just wanted to do a quick swipe of the floor today. I'm feeling pretty sick. Allergies. Sinus infection. Cold. One of these. So I am doing minimal housekeeping and since dear SunShine sprinkled Frosted Flakes on the floor this morning, I thought I ought to vacuum.

A quick swipe of the floor became an "attach the hose thingy" job instead, since everything had moved to the edges. Wow, this medicine is really working. I can't even think to spell. I wish the medicine would make my nose stop running though. That is what it is supposed to do. Oh well, a groggy mind is a good excuse for just about anything. Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, the floor. Why am I talking about the floor? Focus! Carpet gremlins. Okay. I think I'll just post this now before I realize what a weird topic I've chosen, in which instance I'll have to come up with something else to post.