Adventures in Bad Housekeeping

Battling bugs, swilling juice, and my Ashlee Simpson moment


I graduated first in my law school class.

I’ve spent the past week trying to outwit a bunch of fruit flies.

And failing.

I’m not sorry about the path I’ve chosen in life.

But some days are better than others.

Fruit Fly Death Trap

Photo credit


I made fruit fly traps using the old cone-of-paper-in-a-jar-of-vinegar method.

I’d see them fly down into the cone but somehow the little buggers kept coming out.

Finally  it occurred to me that I didn’t tape all the way along the edge of the paper, leaving a gap they could fly out of.  Seriously, this took me about 5 days to figure out.

In the meantime, I tried out the saran-wrap-stretched-across-the-jar-with-holes-poked-through method.

One evening, I stood transfixed watching a fruit fly sniff its way across the Saran wrap and–blip!–nosedive through one of the toothpick holes, never to fly out again.

It was the best part of my week.


We also found moths in our pantry and (yet again) in the coat closet.

I’m supposed to take all the canisters of grains and flour and dry goods and stick them in the freezer to kill off the eggs.

And I had shelled out a lot of money to buy a bunch of nifty, matching canisters.  I know plastic causes cancer and whatnot, but I chose cancer over bugs.

Turns out, I get cancer and bugs.


(Mild to moderate TMI ahead)

Speaking of bugs, I’m trying to beat a UTI with unsweetened, 100% cranberry juice.  I’ve downed about 80 ounces of the stuff in the last 48 hours.

I think it’s getting better.

My one big victory over bugs so far, and even then it’s really too close to call.


The fruit flies haven’t made it to my room yet, but if they do they’ll keep me up all night.

With their sneezing.

My bedroom is coated in dust.

Our whole house is dusty, but especially my bedroom.

I religiously change the air filters; I’ve vacuumed all the intake and outtake vents; we’ve had the ducts cleaned.  We had the furnace replaced recently.

Still, the dust keeps coming.  I can dust the top of my armoire and a thick coat will reappear in two weeks.


It’s affecting my self-esteem because the two most dusty areas in the house are the kitchen/dining area

and my bedroom.

I spend the majority of my time in those areas, by far.

And you know what dust is right?

Mostly skin cells.

What’s wrong with me?  I am some sort of super-skin-shedding freak?

So I have an Ashlee Simpson moment whenever I enter my bedroom.

Ashlee simpson pieces of me gif

7. So that’s my life; how’s yours?

Linking up with Jen for 7 Quick Takes.


In Which My Four Year Old Wants A Bikini

and I Contemplate My Impending Demise

— 1 —

First off, I wrote a guest post for Erika over at Stethoscopes, Style, and Grace (thanks Erika!).  It’s about my supposed minimalism and how I fared against Target.

— 2 —

Girl 1 has taken to drawing little tableaux on her MagnaDoodle every day.  It’s her way to unwind after school.  She likes to draw beach scenes of her and her friends swimming.


Recently Pat and I overheard the following:

Girl1 (to herself): And here’s me and C in our swim bras and swim underpants.

Pat and I exchange deer-in-the-headlights looks.

A few minutes later:

Girl1: Mommy and Daddy, can you get me a swim bra and swim underpants?

Me: Who wears a swim bra and swim underpants?  (Wondering if she got the idea from Barbie or elsewhere)

Girl 1: Oh . . . a ten-year old girl.

Me: Hmm.

A few minutes later,

Girl 1: Mommy, what do you call a swim bra and swim underpants?

Me: Um, a two-piece bathing suit.

Girl 1: Oh, can you get me a two-piece bathing suit?

Me [bracing for the storm]: Uh . . .  you see, Girl 1 . . . Daddy and I think it’s better for girls to cover their tummies.

Girl 1: Oh . . . How about a swim shirt with straps, with swim underpants [i.e., a tankini].

Me: Sure, yeah, that would be okay, if it covers your tummy.

Girl 1: Okay.  I want a pink one.  And Girl 2 can have a purple one.


Please don’t think she ever ever gives up that easily at any other time.

— 3 —

I think I’m coming down with strep throat.  I’m trying to fight it off with a home remedy:

strep throat

Garlic and cayenne pepper by the spoonful.  1/2 tsp every half hour.  Yowzers.  It’s potent.  But I already feel better after less than a day.  Also my saintly husband and his saintly mother have taken care of the girls a lot so I can sleep more.  That helps!

I’ve been on antibiotics four times in the past two years or so, including twice for a strep throat that just wouldn’t go away.  That’s why I want to avoid them this go-around.

— 4 —

I was thinking back on all the various ailments I’ve had in the past five years: strep throat, bad back, periodontal disease (not for lack of flossing, mind you; I’m very defensive about this), UTIs, yeast infections, sinus infection . . . . I kind of feel like:

“I’m melting!”

Back during college and law school, I don’t think I ever was sick enough to warrant going to the doctor.(I went a few times for more routine or preventative things, but not for actually being sick.)  Then it occurred to me:

Nature is telling me I’m no longer needed.

Think about it: I’ve reproduced.  Pat and I have replaced ourselves.  From an evolutionary standpoint, we’re extraneous.

If I had had kids at a more biologically appropriate time, say at 16 and 18, instead of 26 and 28, and if I had a few more of them, it would be even clearer.  They’d be big enough to gather their own nuts and berries and run away from predators.  Absolutely no need for me to stick around.

But, thanks to the marvels of modern medicine (and/or garlic), I’ll probably stick around decades and decades more.  And it’s all going to be one long . . . slow . . . process of decay.

— 5 —

Speaking of decay . . .  I’m pondering what kind of shoes to get to replace my worn-out, smelly, three-year old Sperrys.  Boots aren’t really comfortable for around the house.  Sometimes I just want some to wear my long-neglected cross-trainers (b/c, as you know, I don’t work out), but I’m trying to avoid that style deathtrap.

And they have to be something I can wear with socks.  I neeeeeed socks.  Especially in the winter.  Megan wrote a whole post (back in the glory days when she was still blogging), with shoe guidance for sweaty sock-dependent schmucks like me.   I don’t know if I have enough edge to wear Converse, though.


SONY DSC converse 2

I keep coming back to the idea of chukkas.

Are they a shoe?  Are they a boot?  What makes a chukka a chukka?  I don’t know.  (Doesn’t matter, because I have no money left in my clothing/shoe budget.)  Why do I have chukkas on the brain?

Oh yeah . . . .

— 6 —


Snow White runs away

Actually, Walter White dresses a lot like my dad. It’s pretty funny.  Something about that khaki pants, button-down shirt look is so familiar.  Except that my dad wears pants.  And not chukkas.

— 7 —

Speaking of style icons (were we? Yes, we were), Suzette and I had an interesting conversation about the shortfalls of looking to Marilyn Monroe for fashion inspiration.

I suggested  poor Norma Jeane’s early years for more workable outfit ideas:

Marilyn Monroe Norma Jeane striped shirt blue jeans

Cute right?

But it struck me how absurd it is for me to be dispensing any sort of style advice or what have you.  But I live to serve, so if the demands continue, I shall to go into business.  I plan to call it:

Matthew 15:14 Style Consultancy!

.  .  .  .  .  .

Thanks, Jennifer for hosting the Quick Takes link-up over at Conversion Diary!