Vitamin C for the Garbage Disposal

I would like to have a clean house, really I would. I go to other people's houses and marvel at the cleanliness. There are stay at home mothers with perfect houses. My own mother's house is practically sterile. No matter how good my intentions, however, I am pretty much a failure at cleaning house. When I know someone will be stopping by, I tackle the catastrophic dissary in a marathan scrubbing session after the rest of my family has long ago gone to bed and wake exhausted the next day, disillusioned about cleaning. Generally I pray that people don't stop by unexpectantly. They might get lost in the clutter. Cleaning up after a family who doesn't really care if things are clean is disheartening. Not to mention pointless because the second I turn around things are back to normal . . . messy.

So, in the name of spending quality time with my children and doing things I much more enjoy, I wallow in the dried mud near the back door, the obstacle course of various toys strewn all about the main floor of my house, and the sludge that accumulates in my kitchen sink.

It's the sludge in my kitchen sink that I really set out to write about. It appears often in the basins of my sink, sort of clear, sort of brownish and slimy. Every few days I scrub away at it, and it disappears only to return soon. If this slime relishes the visible surfaces of my sink, I'd hate to see what lurks in the garbage disposal. You can't exactly clean a garbage disposal, even if you try. I have a lot of respect for my garbage disposal; believe me, it really simplifies my life in the kitchen, and I treat it very kindly. However, sometimes that little appliance really smells. Getting rid of the smell is not easy. So when things get to a certain point, I purchase citrus fruit at the grocery store.

Not only is citrus fruit a good source of vitamin C for young children, and grown ups too, but the garbage disposal relishes it. My daughter eats the fleshy part of the fruit and slurps the juice. The garbage disposal delights in orange and lemon peels. It grinds them up and thanks me with a fresh citrus scent.

Musical Mother

If I were your mother, you'd get to listen to "Carnival of the Animals" while you eat your lunch, and you'd know the difference between the elephant songs, the fish songs, and the dinosaur songs, even though your father hadn't even heard of "Carnival of the Animals" before today.

If I were your mother, you'd be splashing in the bathtub while I practice Bach flute sonatas just outside the open door ready to prevent any emergency drowning incidents.

If I were your mother, I'd sing you German lullabies in German, even though I, nor you, speak the language.

If I were your mother, you'd listen to NPR and remark, "Something is going to happen, Mama," when you hear suspenseful songs.

If I were your mother, you'd know all about the opera because instructions would have been sung to you diva style at a very young age.

If I were your mother, you'd know the difference between a bass clarinet and a saxophone.

Our Street

Today on our way home from church my husband turned the corner onto our small street. Sarah said, "This is Sarah's street."

"Yes!" I replied, and then asked, "What is the name of your street, Sarah?" I often ask her questions about her address so she doesn't forget where she lives.

"Avenue Bananas!" She promptly replied.

Sometimes it really does feel like I live on Avenue Bananas. She's smarter than she thinks.

Gallery

playdohcreatureformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Artist at Work

playdohformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Play doh

playdohhandsformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Play doh has been the staple afternoon activity at my house. Hours have been spent twisting, rolling, smashing, poking and mushing things together. The creations have been magnifient, imaginative in ways only akin to a three year old. I watch my resident sculptor at work as I wash the dishes and am amazed at her lack of inhibition. When presented with the same kind of tools as she, I would personally come up with something so much duller. If given giraffe legs, I'd make a giraffe. If an elephant nose were placed in front of me, I'd be liable to conjure up an elephant, not the magificient wild creatures my daughter creates. She shows me each one, beaming with pride, and I'd hate to miss seeing any of them before they are disassembled, squished, and turned into something else.