• The boys and I

  • A Little ‘Bout Me

    I’m 44, married and live in a sewerless small town on the central coast of California. I am an Inflammatory Breast Cancer survivor. My passions are reading, knowledge, shopping and photography – in varying order depending upon my mood. Though I’ve always wanted to be really good at something, I find that I’m just pretty good at most things. I live with my husband, Daddy-O, and our sons, Ben and Danny who are 10 and 5. Ben has ADHD and enough natural energy to power the Pacific Time Zone… and he’s not afraid to use it. Danny has Norries – a rare genetic disease causing him to be born blind. It’s a crazy, hectic life but I can’t complain any more than usual.
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Crime and punishment

I know it’s hard to find good help these days… I myself have gone through my fair share of house cleaners trying to find one that actually keeps showing up on a regular basis. Now, stop it. It’s not like that at all. Just quit with all the eye-rolling. I work full time, have two kids and have a husband who’s idea of helping out around the house is commenting that the piles of clutter have gotten taller than the children. And it can be haaaaaard spending my only days off scrubbing toilets and tubs – not to mention being a slave to the wood floors and those damnable fornicating dust bunnies. So we have a wonderful lady who comes twice a month to do the dirty work. That frees me up to do the “special projects” like muck out the kid’s rooms or forget to clean the refrigerator (again). Besides, it was a gift from Daddy-O and I’m worth it. Right? Anyway, back to my point.

So, I was thinking, that I actually went through 3 cleaning ladies before we found our Lisa. The previous 3, well, I’m really not sure what happened with them. The first one was a young girl (early 20s). She looked at the place, gave us a price, scheduled a day & never showed. Not once. Hmph. Kids. Cleaner #2 was an hispanic lady that came highly recommended. She cleaned for us for about 2 months then got deported. I hate it when that happens. It took months to find cleaner # 3. Months in which I had to clean my own damn house. Cleaner #3 was another hispanic woman that Daddy-O knew from a restaurant he frequents. She came often. He tipped well. She had a key to the house. She always complained that our house did not need to be cleaned. One day she quit coming . Daddy-O actually had to hunt her down to get our house key back. It was several years before Daddy-O found Lisa. I’m never letting her go. You can’t make me. She folds my toilet paper into little pointy tips like in the hotels. She cleans my microwave. She empties my diaper pail, for Heaven’s sake.

At any rate, I went to great lengths to get my house cleaned. But I don’t think I would ever go this far


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