I May Be a Freak But I'm Not a Clean Freak!

I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing...but the thing is it's just the way I am. When my kids were first born was the closest to being a clean freak I ever got. Boiling not only the water I made their formula with but sterilizing seemingly endless bottles nipples and pacifiers, cleaning  humidifiers daily and even washing their little booty's with a warm washcloth every diaper change...regardless of it being a number one or number two. I quickly learned that wet wipes were just as effective as warm washcloths but kept up  the bottle sterilization for at least six months. Then I switched to washing the bottles in the dishwasher adding a cap full of bleach with all the nipples and rings in a dishwasher net bag. My kids never really liked pacifiers much anyway so instead of sterilizing them, I just threw them out .

I am almost fifty one now and my kid's are 25... 19... 16 and all three still alive and healthy. I taught them the basics as they grew up. Wash your hands often, always with warm water and soap. Brush your teeth twice a day. Take a bath and change your underwear every day and don't eat boogers.

So  far it has worked out pretty "well" for us. (small pun intended)

I used to clean my house (dust vacuum, wash sheets mop floors) every Friday just like my Mama did. The big difference was my Mama was a housewife until her youngest child was almost in junior high school.  Once MY kid's got old enough (high school) to clean and do  for themselves and I was still working six days a week I let them live in squalor if they chose. I would clean my own bathroom and the guest bathroom. I kept the living room clean in case company arrived unexpected and cleaned the kitchen after every meal. Between meals they were on their own. The past year or so I have been working sometimes 14 day work weeks...sometimes 20 day work weeks.

I have let the home dust and dirt fall where it may..."Everywhere." If they get disgusted enough they pitch in and clean.
 What do I care? I work over fifty hours a week and work more than I am at home. I work in the cleanest restaurant I have ever worked in (and I have worked in a LOT) so I feel pretty secure about my living environment. I seem to live at work and therefore live in a very clean place.

When life went in the crapper for us, cleaning my house was bumped way down the list,  KEEPING my house worried me a heck of a lot more and became my main priority. I also learned how to pinch a penny til it screamed. I learned how to sometimes beat the banking system (so I like to believe) learned how to keep utilities on WAY past due dates while still  keeping the kids cell phones activated.

When Barb (my boss) eats a meal at  work she always has at least half left over. She  gives it to me and I  take it home and put it in the fridge. Tim wakes up the next  day for work thinking he is eating yet another PB&J for lunch and spots a box of Chicken Picata or Veal Marsala in the refrigerator with "COTTON" written on the box. I will admit, sometimes Barb's best  friend eats dinner with her and has over half her dinner left and asks if I want it? I thank her and put the food in yet another box  label it "COTTON" take it home and tell Tim Leon sent him some food. (Leon is the owner's son)

One time Tim came in to eat some first go around food with Massey and  I mentioned to Leon "If Tim says thanks for the food just say you're welcome."

Skip to today.

I worked a double. Zach took me to work this morning and kept my car because he actually has a job that wants him to come in and talk about employment with their company. I told him to go pick up Massey after school and then come pick me up for my luxurious one hour break. They both got there and announced they were hungry. Monday night is "Pasta Night" at Mama Lucia's.  All pasta entrees are $9.99. They ordered to go. Zach got spaghetti with meatballs and Massey got an order of three meatballs. Our meatballs are ridiculously good and like the good people they are   discounted everything and I had dinner for both kids a bag of warm bakery baked bread with extra virgin olive oil, Parmesan cheese and Italian seasoning for under eight bucks.

I drove home, for a thirty minute power nap with Zach riding shotgun and Massey in the backseat with the food on her lap. We got behind an older tiny Toyota pickup with about twenty huge garbage bags bulging out of every corner of the truck bed when Zach casually said "Don't get too close, if he picks up speed one of those bags might come flying out."

Not one minute later the tiny truck put on his left blinker and started to turn, then  slammed on his brakes just like I had to. The bags shifted but stayed put.  Behind me I heard Massey say "OH my God I think I'm gonna cry!" The bag fell off her lap and her three delicious meatballs were deposited on top of her brand new snow white New Balance tennis shoes her Dad had just bought for her. I told her not to move...we would be home in four minutes. My motto is  "Don't cry over spilled marinara."

We got home , I got out of the car and looked in the seat behind me. Massey still looked mortified but had two meatballs resting on top of each shoe. I told her to wait for me to go get a beach towel but first scooped each meatball up into my hand , went into the kitchen and rinsed them off... put them on a small plate and covered  them with my cheap store brand plastic wrap and put them in the fridge for Tim.
The kids were appalled.
They both said "We'll tell Dad."
I told them  being married to me would kill their father long before anything I fed him did and they better keep their traps shut.

So what I've cut a few corners? It's not like I sterilize Tim's every meal.

 I told Massey they could drive me back to work in thirty minutes and I would get her some more meatballs...she seemed happy with that and I was beyond happy with my thirty minute nap.

On the way back to work I called and ordered Massey's replacement meatballs. She ran in and picked them up when they dropped me off and all was good.

Zach came back to pick me  up from my dinner shift three hours later and when I was checking out with Len (the owner) Zach said "Dad didn't eat those meatballs he went to bed early." Len said "They will be fine, rinse them off and cook them at 250 degrees for ten minutes."

Zach (in total Zach fashion) said "Well then we'll just bring them back here for you to eat."

Len just chuckled...he is married to a woman that makes me look like Aunt Bee on Xannax. I love Barb to death and she is my mentor as a working woman but absolutely everyone is either in awe of her or fears her tremendously.

The meatballs are still in the fridge...if the kids ratted me out they will be sorry, trust me!

Catering for work in the morning. Going to bed thinking how lucky I am to not only have a job that helped save my family but a job that has helped feed my family.

Yes I  aptly named our email address...

Til next time..."Kelly Mae"