A Few of My Favorite Things

Here are a few things that make my life a little easier - but just a few because I wouldn't want to cause anyone out there to stumble.

This is a picture of the shower in our master bathroom. I know a lot of you have been secretely wondering where we bathe and, well, this is it.

Allow me to direct your attention to the bad 80's floral wall paper that no doubt rocked the Kasbah in its day. Also garnering an honorable mention is the ubiquitous beige carpet. The house was built in 1990 and that very-poor-excuse-for-tile is original. Original means its 18 years old and, having lived it's life in a sometimes steamy, wet bathroom, also means it is undeniably gross. But oh-so-cozy-soft in the winter time - let's look on the bright side shall we? And hey, Vintage! Anyway, neither the wall paper or the carpet really have anything to do with this post, I just thought I'd give you all a little opportunity to go into your own master bathrooms and see them in a whole new light.

What is notable about this picture is that you can actually see through the glass to the wall the faucet is on. A few days ago, when I came back from DC (otherwise known as a little slice of heaven where your hotel bathroom is cleaned for you every single day), I realized two things:

• A) I hadn't cleaned our shower in a really long time.


• B) It was revolting.

Under normal circumstances, I would take this banner opportunity to delve deep into the minutia of just how revolting it was, but I read a post recently that pretty much trumps any adjectives I've got, so let me just point you there. While the situation is not the same, I feel supremely confident you will get the idea. That said, the issue came to a head when I became aware that while taking a shower, I was having trouble making out my daughter playing on the floor with her trucks doll. It was clear something had to be done because without an unobstructed view of her, it was almost as if I was taking a shower alone. And goodness knows, we can't have that. Privacy is dead to me. To be afforded even an illicit whiff of it now might cause my pacemaker to suddenly short.

So the next time I was in the blue lagoon, I took it upon myself to do a little market research and test drive this new Scrubbing Bubbles product that...suspense, suspense......ACTUALLY WORKS! Hot diggity is that ever a novel concept in bathroom cleaning products. You know what else is novel? Unlike the usual sprays, sponges, and scrub brushes, it requires a minimum amount of effort. Not only can you can actually see the fruit of your labor right there on the disposable cleaning pad, it's flexible enough to get in all the little crevices - like where the 80's brass shower enclosure meets the 80's almond shower wall. Best of all, my brief moment of domestication occured while my Bed Head conditioner was working to make my coarse, unruly hair soft, shiny and manageable. The Maniac has a delectable pina colada scent that almost made me forget that I was sloshing about in a puddle of soap scum and bacteria. That is Thing 1. The Action Scrubber, not the conditioner. Though I dare say my hair is softer and shinier, albeit still unmanageable.

Thing 2. I have a close friend who lived near us when we were residing in the aforementioned little slice of heaven. When I would visit her, she would frequently lament her inability to get organized. At the time she had three little boys and we had none, so I would basically nod as if I understood exactly, but in reality I had no real concept of what she was talking about. Now, nearly 5-years later, we have brood of our own and with the abundance of toys, books, and their constant need for whole new wardrobes, it is possible my Type A-ness has been almost snuffed out. Also, I'd like to take this moment to declare: Hey Jenn, about the organization thing? I TOTALLY GET IT!

And that is why I so heart these long underbed storage boxes from the Container Store that I use to store the hundreds of dollars of clothing that my children each wore for THREE ENTIRE WEEKS before they grew out of them. Because I don't live near a Container Store, I generally buy a case of 6 - which baffles my good natured husband because, "Who in the world could possibly need this many plastic boxes?" And, "Can't we get this exact same storage box from Target?"

But then I show him the magical, glorious thing I have done with them and he is forced to skulk off to dream of the 42" plasma TV that costs roughly 10 x as much as my organizational system. I love these boxes so much, I have two entire closets almost full of them. See, here is another.

Baby clothing is my own personal Kilimanjaro and I feel I have conquered it. The rest of the junk in the closet, well, not so much. I do know that when I run out of closets to fill with plastic boxes of childrens' clothing, we'll be forced to move simply because I can't bear to part with them. And at that point it will be obvious that I have gone from Type A to Pack Rat and should probably be institutionalized.

Favorite Thing 3 is this.

I had one or two or eleven today. This because I am weak and cannot resist the call of 4 pounds of red, rubbery goodness.