Certainly, Not I

Once upon a time there was a HausFrau who was leading a very average HausFrau life. She cooked & cleaned & tended to the children. She wasn't the "perfect HausFrau" and never once proclaimed to be, since she herself doubted the existence of such a creature. She was, however, savvy and did "just enough" to leave the lasting impression that she was really good at all things HausFrau.

Everything was in its place, dinner menus planned, toilets scrubbed & laundry washed, folded and put away. Oprah & Dr. Phil were watched, bon-bons eaten, long bubble baths taken and Chardonnay sipped. Contentment reigned supreme in HausFrau's life until one day . . .

The Man called her up from work & told her about a job, one with a real paycheck, that would soon be up for grabs. This job, the one with a real paycheck, quite intrigued HausFrau. For one, she would be really good at this job & had the necessary experience & education to convince the hiring authorities of this. For two, the job would command a real paycheck, and most everyone knows that money does indeed talk.

That night as the family sat down to dinner, no doubt a delicious home cooked meal prepared with love, the topic of the job popped up. HausFrau wanted to know what the family would think about her possibly applying for, and eventually accepting this job.

The Man, the Laze-E & the MiniMe all thought the job, and the real paycheck, sounded like a great idea to them. Until . . .

HausFrau casually mentioned that a full-time working-mama job would leave a lot less time for her to tend to the Haus & the children & icky toilets. The family all made frowny faces as they pondered how HausFrau's having a real job might affect them.

HausFrau asked of her devoted family,

"On a nightly basis, who will help me sweep the floors?"

Not I, replied the Man.
Not I, replied the Laze-E.
Not me, replied the MiniMe.

"Then I shall sweep them myself," responded HausFrau.

"But, who will help me wash and fold and put away the laundry?"

Not I, said the Man.
Not I, said the Laze-E.
Not me, said the MiniMe.

"Then I shall wash & fold & put away the laundry myself," replied the HausFrau.

"But, who will help me scrub the toilets & shine the sinks?"

Not I, proclaimed the Man.
Not I, proclaimed the Laze-E.
Not me, proclaimed the MiniMe.

"Then I shall scrub and shine them myself," said the HausFrau.

"But, who will help me prepare delicious home cooked meals?"

Not I, answered the Man.
Not I, answered the Laze-E.
Not me, answered the MiniMe.

"Then I shall cook dinner myself," replied the HausFrau.

"But, who will help me eat the scrumptious food?"

Oh, I will! exclaimed the Man.
Oh, I will! exclaimed the Laze-E.
Oh, me too! exclaimed the MiniMe.

"Fine. Then we all shall enjoy a great meal together," responded the HausFrau.

"But, who will help wash up the dishes and swipe off the counters?"

Not I, said the Man.
Not I, said the Laze-E.
Not me, said the MiniMe.

This prompted HausFrau to ask the most important question of the evening,

"So, who wants this job with a real paycheck?"

Not I! answered the HausFrau with the utmost conviction.

Thank Goodness! declared the Man.
Hallelujah! declared the Laze-E.
Sounds good to me! declared the MiniMe.

With that decision made, the family went off to enjoy their evening of TV & Internet as HausFrau gathered the dirty dishes and headed to the kitchen to clean up.

After all, a little dish washing and toilet scrubbing is small price to pay for unlimited Oprah & Phil, bon-bons, bubble baths and Chardonnay.

HausFrau's Moral of the Story: If it ain't broke, don't break it.

Cleanliness Is Next To Craziness

It's been the HausFrau battle cry of Summer 2008. Maybe more of a threat. It goes something like this:

"Take the crusted over ice cream carton off my desk and throw it away . . .
or, I will go ballistic!"

"Pick up the popcicle stick off my office floor . . .
or, I will go ballisitc!"

"All markers & crayons need to go back into their containers right now . . .
or, I will go ballistic!"

"Fold and put away every piece of clothing in your room on your floor . . .
or I will go ballistic!"

I will give MiniMe a little credit here; she's wired more like I am when it comes to the need for order and doesn't cause as much cleaning stress. Laze-E on the other hand . . . .

oh, dear.

That girl is going to drive me to dry-swollowing Prozac by the handfuls before the summer is over.

Thankfully, she has enough sense to jump quickly when she's in danger of being on the receiving end of a good old fashioned conniption fit. Been there, done that. Wasn't a whole lot of fun.

I'm sure it wasn't a picnic for her, either.

OK, Laze-E is pretty smart and over the years has developed a good feel for what will set me off. She could probably give you a fairly accurate Top Ten for Pushing Mom's Buttons -- especially when considering order & perfection in the Haus. However, because she's uh . . . lazy . . . she only considers un-pushing buttons when threatened with bodily harm. Or loss of computer privileges.

Man, on the other hand, has apparently been living in the recliner facing the TV La-La Land. It was only 2 days ago that he finally got a clue that certain inperfections around the Haus can push me to the edge of sanity. Seriously, I only half joke about having some OCD tendencies. It's not like I'm diagnosed PsychoFrau or anything. It's all very subclinical, but slight anxiety lurks just beneath the surface of my savvy self.

And, Man didn't know. Can you say denial?

How did he finally get a clue? One might ask. Well, let me tell you.

After letting some HausFrau tasks slide for a few days, I was feeling that must-clean-Haus anxiety creeping up on me. I started loading up the laundry basket & just happened to mention to Man that it was almost impossible for me to stay motivated daily to do HausWork. As a result, I get behind and, as a result, I get stressed.

You know what he did?

He looked around and said the Haus looks fine to me, what are you foaming at the mouth talking about?

Obviously, he's blind our standards are a bit different. I was almost in tears - admittedly, it's ridiculous - as I reminding him about the OCD thing. When certain things are not a certain way, I get stressed.

His response: Seriously? I thought you were just joking. I had no idea it was that bad.

My response: Seriously? How could you not know? I mention it a few times per week. Most of my frineds know. Seriously? You had no clue?

Seriously. He had no clue.

So, I clued him in.

Ok, hon, you know how I whip out the vacuum cleaner, fluff & arrange the pillows, flip the rug tassles and line up the DVD's before I can sit down and watch the entire first season of Weeds a bit of TV? Well, crumbs on the floor, crooked tassles, DVD's and pillows in disarray totally drive me nuts and I can't relax.

Man's response: my vacuuming, fluffing & arranging totally drives him nuts.

Or, how about when we are about to take off for a Rockin'Bauer Road Trip. You know, how I whip out the Swiffer duster to clean off the dash & console? And swipe a Windex wipies over the windshield? It drives me nuts and I can't relax and enjoy the trip with dust on the radio controls.
Man's response: my swiping and wiping drive him nuts.

Or, how about when I'm in the kitchen swiping and wiping and missing a good TV show. A messy kitchen drives me nuts and I can't relax in front of Medium.

Man's response: Seriously? It's that bad? I just thought you'd rather be cleaning than watching TV.

Side note: the only reason this doesn't drive him nuts is because he's in another room.

Bottom Line: if not doing it drives me nuts and my doing it drives him nuts, it's the OCD talking.

But, now he's trying to blame every bit of HausWork on OCD. Meaning that if all HausWork is just OCD craziness, he's off the hook from ever having to do any, forever & ever. Hello?! Most of the time I'm loading or unloading the dishwasher or washing dishes by hand because it needs to be done & it's my job. Ditto for toilet scrubbing. And, dusting.

Just so he can help me keep the pillows fluffed and neatly arranged be informed, I gave him the short list of other anxiety-inducing infractions:

Towels - including bath towles, hand towels, dish cloths and towels, must be neatly folded the right a certain way.

Rugs cannot be cockeyed; they must line up with the tiles on the floor.

Stainless steel in the kitchen, espeically the island, has to be shined.

Chairs have to be pushed up to the table and symmetrical.

It's not like I obsessively or compulsively fold and re-fold towels. I just feel better when that perfect tri-fold is gracing the bathroom shelves. Like I said, it's all very subclinical. It's just freaking denial part of the unique tapestry that makes me me.

Amazingly enough, other things I can somewhat ignore. I can handle a bit of mess in the bathrooms, my desk (to an extent - does not include stray ice cream cartons), I can let laundry pile up for a few days (remember, I have a European size washer so I can't go that long), windows don't really bother me, dishes don't have to be 100% done 100% of the time, and as long as pantry & fridge shelves are mostly in order, I'm okay.

I also pointed out that because I am HausFrau and not 9-5Woman that I can much better manage the anxiety. As long as I stay on top of the HausWork, I'm good. And, his quality of life is good. And, the kids are mostly intact.

However, if I have job-realted stress on top of HausWork stress, the anxiety can really get to me. Been there, done that. Wasn't a whole lot of fun.

And, it wasn't a picnic for me either.

So, we have a deal. I continue to play HausFrau for now, keeping the OCD subclinical, Man's quality of life remains undisturbed & the kids should remain mostly intact. When I do go back to work full time, Man will not play full time HausMan - remember that part about his being blind our having different standards?

We will hire a housekeeper. A live-in would be awesome, part time would be desirable. I'll settle for a once-a-weeker.

Of course, we'll have to probably pay extra for him (keeping it PC) or her (keeping it real) to deal with popcicle sticks and ice cream cartons.

Either that, or the hired help might go ballistic.

And, I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be a picnic.

For us, either.

More or Less

Last month, while visiting Ramstein & breathing in some Air Force fumes, we had dinner with some friends of ours (Hi, Melodi). My friend was begging both of her girls to just eat something & MiniMe was very puzzled by this. She even asked, "Why are you making them eat?" It was a completely foreign concept to her because we are are more focused on when to stop eating and not when to start.

It's not MiniMe's fault. She does live at the Haus, afterall.

Man and I have a motto: Anything worth doing is worth overdoing. Oh, come on. You've seen us in action both individually and as a team & you know we just about have the market cornered when it comes to being anal overachieving.

Ours is not totally a beat a dead horse kind of philosophy. It’s more like a more is more way of seeing the world. I can't speak for Man, but personally, I've never understood the Less is More mantra. What's that all about, anyway?

Shall I introduce HausFrau Rule #4?

More is better.

OK - here's how this rule works around the Haus:

When changing a diaper, if it looks like it might need another wipie, then grab at least 3 more.

When terminating the creepy crawlies, if the cockroach looks like it needs another whack, then go ahead and beat the hell living daylights out of it with a flip-flop.

When fixing things around the house, if it looks like it needs more duct tape, use the whole darn roll on the bed support beams.

When finishing up in the loo, if it's smelling like it needs more air freshener, go ahead and hold down the nozzle for another 5 seconds 15 seconds.

This rule is especially applicable for culinary ingredients, more specifically butter, olive oil, cheese, garlic & alcohol.

As examples:

When preparing Texas Beer Chili: Most published recipes call for a 12 ounce can of beer. My recipe starts with a ½-liter bottle of Pils and I taste to season “season to taste” after that.

When making cherry pie filling: most recipes list ½ teaspoon of amaretto as an optional ingredient that may be substituted with almond extract. Personally, I start with a ¼ cup & leave the option open to adjust up from there.

Likewise:

When making a wine sauce: if the sauce is tasting a little anemic in the wine department, by all means, add another swig splash or two. It’s called Riesling Cream Sauce for a reason. If Riesling wasn’t meant to be the predominant ingredient, it shouldn’t be listed first.

When making Sangria: if it looks like the pitcher needs more kirschwasser, then please, add a weeny bit more. This definitely livens up the party and makes for very memorable evenings. (Hi, Naomi. How’s the baby?) For those of you unfamiliar with kirschwasser, it's basically cherry flavored Everclear.

Although More is Better applies to most situations at the Haus, there are a few exceptions to this rule. Less butt fat is certainly better, less debt is better, less clutter is the best ever and less boxes of HausFrau-defined junk is definitely better. I bring this up because,

A few days back I lost my mind again & plowed full force into our basement boxes. I probably would have kept my head in the sand and let sleeping dogs lie except for the fact that I have to look at piles and piles of boxes every time I venture to my pantry for a bag of Doritos can of spaghetti sauce.

Without any alcohol whatsoever (do I ever cease to amaze you?), I dove head first into not only boxes of my "teaching materials" but also many, many boxes of "Man's Crap". He obviously wasn't going to do it, and I can't participate in another PCS with thirteen intact boxes of junk important papers from the 70's, 80's & 90's. For music, that's a great period of time, for outdated paperwork, it's a HausFrau nightmare - PCS panic attack just waiting to happen.

I have sorted through a mountain of dead trees and loaded up at least three four big huge boxes of paper that needs to be shredded. Members of my Paper Death Row include: hundreds of Hawaii travel brochures from the mid-90's, warranties for electronics that were pawned off as donations to unsuspecting Thrift Shops we do not own anymore, gas ration card from Würzburg (circa 2001), financing paperwork for a 1980-something Daytona that was purchased in 1980-something, years of bank statements from an account that was closed years ago & just to spice things up a bit, a few pictures of crazy witches ex-women that have slipped through the cracks.

Yeah, I know. It would have behooved me to have sipped a little Chianti ahead of time.

In my all out attempt to lighten the load, I've even agreed to throw out some of my teaching files. What's fair is fair. Ok, so it's not that big of a sacrifice. Somes of the files haven't been touched in 10 years, others weren't that great in the first place. Plus, if I get in a bind at some point in the future, I figure the Internet can bail me out. Seriously, how hard can it be to locate a middle school fetal pig dissection lab online?

Obviously, if I NEVER teach again I won't be crying any tears. I'm chunking everything except for bare bones biology curriculum. And, anatomy, that might be handy someday. You just never know . . . yes, I watch all the top-rated crime shows . . .

Besides, I'm 95% certain that I am going to make a career change and this is just one more step in that direction. Once I feel the perfect order of all household files pulsing through my veins, I can more efficiently work on an online Nutrition 101 class. Or, something really exciting like Sociology 101 or better yet, Texas Government. I think this is also the driving force behind my sudden interest in snazzing up all our paper files. That and we could PCS at any given time.

It's either that or I'm stuggling yet again with control issues. Even though there are numerous events and situations that I have absolutely no control over whatsoever, I sure as heck can pare down the paperwork and perfectly organize, file and label every last scrap of paper in this house. Except for toilet paper - I know where to draw the line - it's not like I have a diagnosed disorder or anything.

So, while I'm digging through extremely outdated and irrelevant files I happened upon some interesting artifacts of times by-gone. Thankfully, my sense of humor is intact, más o menos.

Among the basement treasures, I found a deck of bare naked ladies playing cards. Obviously, distibuted somewhere along the way for troop morale & welfare. Right? Again, more would have been better - specifically, more clothes on them would have been better for me. Remember, I've been working without the benefit of ethanol.

Sometime a while back, Man and I were watching Dr. Phil together - like that ever happens - and he recognized the über-dysfunctional couple as "friends" from Germany, Round II. Some couple the exxie decided to befriend - he even remembered being at their house for some New Year's celebration. Yeah, I know.

But, I found the birth announcement for their first born - picture included. What a gem of a find. I mean, cute baby and all, but it was almost like reaching out and touching Jerry Springer from the privacy of my basement. Even I can't say that I actually know anyone who has admitted stupidity &/or moral turpitude on nationally syndicated TV, so Man wins on that count. Ok, so I might be related to know more people who engage in stupidity and moral turpentine, they just don't flaunt it on TV (or in movie musicals).

I also found some baby pictures of Man that I've never seen before. Yes, they were stashed away in a file folder labeled "P" for pictures - I assume. He swears I can out freak him in the neat department. But seriously, while all my photos are chronologically & asthetically displayed in albums or neatly in stacked in photo boxes, that's nothing compared to having them filed under "P", n'est-ce pas?

Anyway, I now know why MiniMe has always been such an Amazon baby. I found this picture of Man, at a tender 3 1/2 months of age - yes, months. Isn't he just adorable? And, definitely out achieving his peers on the standardized growth chart.



And, this one at age 8 months. He's a whopping 26 pounds!



Again, an absolute cutie-pie, and totally buying into the More is Better philosophy.

My project is ongoing & I'm still sorting through boxes and slowly adding more stuff to the trash boxes and retaining less stuff for our next PCS. And, I'm definely feeling better. More or less.