How to Get Your Whites Really White: And 365 other things my mother taught me

With all of the germies floating through our home these days, I felt the need to clean like crazy today. The Lysol and Clorox were flowing freely. I'm not a big fan of using those harsh chemicals to clean, however, when the smell of vomit is in the air, I'm willing to sacrifice one day of being exposed to toxic chemicals! My mom never used that stuff though. Vinegar and ammonia were my mom's weapons of choice against grime and germies, alike. I can distinctly remember the strong smell of vinegar throughout the house on Saturdays, our cleaning day. Mom swore by the ability of vinegar to make glass shine like new. I pulled out the vinegar bottle the other day to see if it really worked and my windows are clear as well...glass! The only thing I'm a little peeved about is the fact that I've been spending 3 dollars a bottle for the blue stuff. Should've taken that advice to heart sooner! We could probably have a second home! Thanks Mom!

Two out of our three kiddos have come down with what we like to call, The Pre-Christmas Gastrointestinal Flu. It never fails, for the last 4 years 2-3 weeks before Christmas our entire family gets nailed by a stomach bug. It usually ends up waiting until I'm halfway through my Christmas baking...and hits hard enough that I don't want to eat any of the goodies for the rest of the season. (Maybe it's not such a bad thing, eh?) Curtis and I are patiently waiting for our turn and dreading when Abby, the 1 1/2 year old gets it. At least a 6 year old and 3 year old can tell you when/if they feel like throwing up. The 18 month old just does it. Anywhere, anytime. Which ends up being; Everywhere, All-the-time. Ick. So what lesson am I getting at with this sad little tale? Well, last night as William, our oldest, was getting cleaned up from the first wave of stomach contents, it occurred to me that he should most definitely not return to his bed...which happens to be the

I'll never forget the horrified feeling I had the first time I saw my mother take a kitchen shears to my newly blossomed lobelia plants, located along the walkway leading up to our new house. I watched, unable to speak or move, as she took each plant, lifted the bulk of the plant up and away from the ground and with one big "SNIP" removed the already scarce purpley-blue blossom and the majority of the leaves as well, leaving a sad little tuft of root, stem, and a leaf here and there. It was mid-May and we had moved into our first home only a month prior and I had been eagerly awaiting the chance to stretch botany legs a little and see if my mother's green thumb ran in the family. The delicate, brilliant lobelia had caught my eye and before I knew it, they had grown from tiny seedlings to large, sidewalk crowding plants, more stem and leaf than blossom. I knew that their blooming wouldn't last long, so out of ignorance I asked Mom if there was any way to extend

I suppose if I'm going to title something, "How to Get Your Whites Really White" I should actually tell you, not to be repetitive, how to get your whites really white! So here it is folks! You are going to need six things: 1)Dingy white clothes 2)HOT water 3)Oxyclean 4)Some sort of large plastic container 5)Large Wooden Spoon 6)Good ol' fashioned sunshine. Put two scoops of OxyClean into your large plastic container and proceed to fill it with HOT water. The hotter, the better. I actually heat my water to not-quite-boiling on the stove in a large stockpot and pour it into a plastic tote. This would be the part where my mom would tell you to be really careful of any small children, pets, etc. that might try to get their fingers, paws, etc. into the tote. Submerge your dingy whites in the solution and stir it all around for a few minutes with a wooden spoon to dissolve the Oxyclean. Whenever I do this I feel mildly like Charlie Bucket's mother in the original

Last Sunday was the big Christmas decoration day in our house. Curtis went and got a beautiful Windsor Pine and the kids and I pulled out our totes of Christmas stuff (a ridiculous number of totes by the way). As the eggnog flowed and the Holiday Tunes blared (yes, we're geeky traditionalists) I found myself uttering oddly familiar warnings, ("If you mess with those ornaments one more time, I'm going to put them all back and we're not having a Christmas tree this year"), and commands, ("The tree is crooked. Move it to the left, no...back....wait, maybe it wasn't crooked."), and in the end, just doing it all myself ("No, you may not play golf with my glass bulbs, put down that club NOW. Go find Dad."). As I pulled my 18 month old out of the tree for 55th time I realized I had made the inevitable transition, I've become my mother. Of course this wasn't the first time this trite realization has reared it's creepy little head.