House Husbandry

Toast, Utensils, and Marital Diplomacy: A Slice of Life

Let’s be honest: the kitchen is not just where we prepare food—it’s where domestic philosophy is forged, sometimes on the blade of a butter knife. In my household, we follow a sacred code: “Help the dishwasher out as much as you can.” It’s a noble creed—one that my wife and I mostly share, with a tiny, chocolate-hazelnut exception.

Toast: The Great Equalizer (Almost)

Both of us are toast fans. (We even had a toast song, but that’s a story for another day—and possibly another genre.) While my heart belongs to a bagel with peanut butter, toast comes in at a very respectable second. My wife? She’s all in on toast, topped with Nutella. Frankly, you can’t go wrong with either.

The Knife Dilemma: Peanut Butter vs. Nutella Protocol

Here’s where the marital kitchen harmony wobbles: the post-spread knife ritual.

My method: I lick both sides of the knife clean. Some might call it overkill; I call it preventive maintenance. That knife comes out of the dishwasher so clean, it could double as a dental mirror.
My wife’s method: She wipes the knife clean on her toast. Efficient, elegant, but perhaps a smidge too trusting of the dishwasher’s powers.

The Empty-Nester’s Dilemma

Back when the house was full of kids, the dishwasher ran daily, and any rogue Nutella or peanut butter never stood a chance. Now, with fewer meals and fewer cycles, any residue has time to harden into something the dishwasher considers “character-building.”

My Heroic Intervention

This morning, as the Nutella knife was headed for the dishwasher, I sprang into action—tongue first. I gave that knife a pre-wash so thorough, the dishwasher sighed in relief.

Let it be known: if the dishwasher fails to deliver, it’s not for my lack of effort. Some people talk about making sacrifices for their marriage. Me? I just lick the knife.

In summary: Marriage is about compromise, teamwork, and occasionally, making sure your appliances don’t face impossible odds. And if you ever need someone to clean up after toast, you know who to call.

Sound Of Security

(The image doesn’t accurately show the process of adding a storm shelter to a completed garage. The real process does not have a blade as anxious to incapacitate.)

As I awoke this morning, I heard the sound of concrete saw. This wasn’t the sound of someone breaking in to someone’s house; it was the sound of a storm shelter being installed.

In our Oklahoma neighborhood, the transitional seasons can have ugly weather. While a storm shelter does nothing to protect what is above the ground, it will secure what is under. With many completed homes for sale in the neighborhood, the sound of the saw is the sound of a realtor’s success. When spring arrives, we will find out how many times the tornado sirens summon us to its dark and safe depths.

You have to live somewhere. You and your property can be attacked by wind, earthquakes, floods, fires, and all sorts of natural phenomenon. You take precautions. You say prayers for the safety of those under your roof and those you love. When it’s all over and done, your Christian faith tells you it’s not yours anyway. The safety of eternity will have to do. 🙂

Trash Days Prior To A Move

When you are preparing to move with 33 years of marriage and 4 grown kids who have moved out of the house, trash days are like holidays. How? The days leading up to that day are full of preparation and excitement. I cheer on my wife. I set unreachable goals, and I count the number of trash days leading up to the move. All normal behavior, right?

When the move was a “maybe” or “eventually”, the pace was much more casual. As the switch flipped into the “yes” column, the strategy changed. No longer was I content to create a bag or two of trash per week. The pace was accelerated and the goals were not limited. Based on my desire to stay ahead, the goals were immediately raised as soon as they were reached. If we had 6 bags of trash for Tuesday’s trash day, I would start campaigning for one more. (If 7 was reached, I would raise it again.)

With two trash days per week, consistency has been a problem. The weekend efforts allow us to have a handful or more bags on Tuesday. The Friday pick up day is limited to big items or stuff where sorting isn’t necessary. Some of my old work stuff was not patiently explored. It was dumped into trash bags with no regard to specific value. “If it is over 10 years old and in a box that was part of our previous move, then it is dead to me.” Maybe a little over-dramatic, but a pre-moving purge is not for the overly-sentimental.

My wife is charged with the sentimental choices. If the kids might like it, she puts it in a group chat for them to comment on. If none of them like it and it seems too valuable to throw out, it is posted on the local gifting exchange. This has caused a stream of strange individuals creeping towards and front door to acquire their “one level above trash” item. (They are placed outside the front door. Our interaction is typically limited to watching them park in front of our mailbox and rapidly slink up the sidewalk. One incident was especially funny. A china cabinet we had no use for was gifted, but the husband picked up a dresser instead. Dutifully, the husband returned and made the swap.) Granted, Goodwill may be the ultimate home for some of these items. That way, the item might still be sent to the trash but our consciouses will be clear.

As we swing into the final week before the trucks show up, a few key areas of the house designated as “kid” areas have been reserved. After our daughters arrive today and tomorrow for our early Thanksgiving this weekend, they have been given the request to make their keep/throwout decisions by Thursday evening. That way, I can make sure all bags of trash can be ready for pickup by 8:00. And, if any trash is found buried in one of the remote secret passageways of our earthly castle, I can still get it out on moving day, Tuesday, next week.

A Daughter’s Advice

As I got up early Sunday morning to make sure I got my walk in before church, a trip to the garage to get a new coffee creamer was accompanied by scampering. This wasn’t my scampering. Critters were sharing the garage space with me. One of them charged me while wielding a scythe, which I conveniently dodged. The gauntlet was thrown down. The second “Man v Rat” challenge had been issued.

After lunch and an annoying computer project, I made it to Home Depot. The glue traps were more expense than when the last challenge was issued, but it was still a tool I trusted. After tracking evidence (read this as rat feces) of the rat’s favorite haunts, I strategically placed the glue traps. I was careful to wear gloves to ensure I didn’t leave a nasal contamination on any of the traps.

I must have done a good job placing the traps. By dinner time, two rats were wrestling to escape one of my cleverly-placed traps. My wife said, “Deal with them in the morning.” My daughter’s text reply was, “It is cruel to let them suffer.” Since I wanted to avoid the issue, my wife’s words were much more palatable than my daughter’s.

When morning arrived, I waited several more hours before cleaning up the traps. When I first awoke, I noticed the garage had no sounds of rats attempting to escape a trap. I thought, “I know I didn’t do right by the rodents, but I will get it cleaned up soon.”

Imagine my surprise when the “captured” rodent trap had moved. I moved miscellaneous garage “furniture” to find the trap, which was not immediately visible. Following this shock, I found that one of the other traps had also moved locations. Dismissing the idea of a king rat seeking vengeance on those who would attack his subjects, I took a more logical approach. The trap behind the trash can had an actively mobile victim. The other trap had been flipped over and was now victimless. (e.g., the earlier captives had escaped)

I did what was necessary on the “active” trap and kicked myself for my laziness the night before. If I had taken my daughter’s advice, the garage would have had three fewer rats compared to just one. Now, wearing my homeowner hat, my ability to be “rodent” merciful is gone. Sorry to those vermin who find my remaining glue traps. Your end will be swift.

Ants In Our Drains

Obviously, this is a play on “ants in our pants.” If only it were not true!

A few weeks ago, our downstairs toilet was having problems. We were not immediately certain it was the toilet. The biggest clue was the bathroom had an earthy smell to it. To me, it was clear it was not emanating from the sink. So, after trying to clean up the earthy smell with products designed for the tank, we eventually found a plumber who would come to the house when he said he would.

The twosome shows up and provides a quick estimate. Once I saw how easily the toilet moved side to side, I knew the “unless we find something else” would quick in. In this case, the ring that secured the toilet to the floor and to the sewage was rusted through. When the integrity of the pipes was compromised, the ants were granted access. Even with the toilet now fixed, we are still fighting the consequences of this breach. How might you ask? Good question…

To remove ants from your sink, use a half cup of baking soda with an equal chaser of vinegar. Rinse in 10 minutes with hot water. Ideally, this will work. When the resident teenage boys leave licorice in the sink overnight, the success of this treatment is uncertain.
For your garbage disposal, ice cubes with baking soda are supposed to circulate in the pipes once they are chopped up by an “angry to be invaded” disposal. Not sure how well this worked. Because of the kitchen’s proximity to the “breached” bathroom, ant traps were set out previously. At today’s lunch, the hockey boys discovered ants feasting on the hamburger buns. The backup package proved necessary when the “extra roughage” argument was rebuffed.
I bought a squirt bottle for equal parts of water and vinegar. It is mixed but not yet tried. I am uncertain what impact vinegar would have on the hockey boys. Would they melt or lose their appetites or some other unpredictable outcome? I might test the mixture’s effectiveness as they travel for an away game this weekend.

Early in this experience, I poured myself a bowl of honey nut cereal. The ants were not well camouflaged. The milk only proved they didn’t have scuba equipment. I threw in a few dried cranberries before eating and drinking the contents of the bowl. If I am going to win this battle, I will have to do it while staring them down–antenna to eyeball.

Just A Shard…

On another morning this past week, the heavily callused bottom of my foot had to ward off an attack from a shard of clear glass. It was barely a tickle as my foot’s defenses developed over multiple decades kicked in. (I love how I used a foot verb to describe the defenses the foot has against sharp objects, but I digress.) It was barely bigger than a grain of salt. With no knowledge of invasive creatures that poop glass of such small sizes, I had to seek out another culprit for my attempted injury.

With the recent mouse adventure still fresh on my mind, I vowed to take a more logical approach on solving this mystery.

The Kitchen: Did any baking go on that could have caused a glass (actual glass or a baking item)to be thrown into the far reaches of the kitchen area? I couldn’t think of anything, but the extra kids in our house are not always the best proactive communicators.
Christmas: Christmas decorations only started going out yesterday. The shard made its appearance/penetration at the end of last week. No candle holders or broken ornaments to blame here. The culprit must be something else…
Shoes: Could anyone have walked through a field (it wouldn’t have to be a full field, but visualizing a full field of glass sure is more interesting than saying a “broken drinking glass”.) of glass and brought some of it into the house on their shoes?

It is the latter that is likely the winner with some slight modifications. At the beginning of November, we had new windows installed in our home. With the exception of one window, all windows on the first floor are now new. According to the building code, if a window is within so many feet (maybe 4?) of a door, the window must have tempered glass. Tempered glass is glass that shatters into a million tiny pieces when it breaks. This prevents the glass from developing sharp edges that could cause serious injury. When the glass from the window near the back door was taken out, the glass broke into SO many pieces. While tarps were laid out prior to the removal and brooms/mops circumnavigating the floor numerous times, one of our residents encountered a very small piece of glass under the table during dinner within a couple days of the window installation.

While my glass prick or tickle was a month removed from the “window swap party”, no other explanation can account for it. It was kind of like a bacteria that was lingering around with the hopes it could bring down one more victim. If it were a suitable victim, the bacteria could take down a household, then a street, then a town, a state, and then the world. In this case, my calluses were like my immune system. And…yes, it is time to end this posting…;-)

The Mouse that Got Away

The day started with me in the bathroom staring at something that easily could have been a piece of black rice. After extensive testing and asking the “bug guy” who came to do his quarterly spraying what it was, it was determined it was nothing excreted from the floor of our house. When presented with the evidence, the bug guy tried to put me at ease, saying, “If you only saw one, it is probably from a cockroach.” [Please see the image below]

With the faithful bug guy alerted and spraying the whole house, I hoped he would leave with a smile on his face and the word, “nothing” on his lips. Unfortunately, this was not the case. While in the downstairs guest bedroom, he drew my attention to some additional evidence. “These look a little old. They are definitely from a mouse.” [The bug guy also told me about finding a raccoon in an attic in Dallas. The raccoon had a minion of rats that he did not hesitate to use as ammo on anyone who would enter his domain.] We did not have an infestation. We could not write the problem off. Somehow our house had acquired a mouse, and the evidence was in two rooms.

I didn’t immediately tell my wife. I let the visions of glue traps dance through my head. I worried about how I would find the ideal spot to place the traps in light of minimal evidence of our resident rodent. I tried to forgive myself for somehow allowing an uninvited creature to join our family. There is always room for geckos and small lizards to have easy access to our homes, but adding a warm-blooded home-crasher to the census was beyond what I could easily digest.

After dinner, I mentioned to my wife the excitement she had missed while at work. I mentioned the bug guy and the mouse evidence discovered by both him and me. I barely told her about my concerns when she said, “It was probably when [our daughter’s name] came over for Thanksgiving. She brought her hamster[Kevin], and he escaped one night. Remember how they couldn’t believe they found Kevin after Kevin was out of his cage for a few hours.” And, yes, I did remember.The present theory that the mouse wasn’t a mouse but a hamster is the preferred one. This does not mean we don’t have a very clean mouse strolling through the various rooms of our home with a creature following him making sure very little evidence is left behind. What I can say for sure is Kevin may look like a hamster, but in the eyes of a bug guy, he is a mouse.

Tree Slaying

Having trees that love to create seeds may be great if you are a squirrel, but if you are a human who does not like to have your grass smothered by acorns or deluged with elm seeds, then the battle lines are drawn.

Such was the case in the fall. During this time, we used the wet/dry vac to collect much of the squirrel food. After many tubs of acorns and stray yard materials were sucked up into the “tub of judgement”, I felt pretty comfortable the yard had been insulated, as best as I was able, from the potential saplings that could result. The little elm seeds are less able to be quickly eradicated. They are much more insidious that the obvious acorn. They nestle into the mulch. They congregate in the gutters to be tossed randomly into whatever part of the yard will embrace them as the gutters are cleared again for water flow. The elm seeds partner with the wind so they are not limited to developing friendships in just our yard.

Enter the spring…

Despite all of my efforts, the “weeds” are still coming in with no mercy. What is a weed? It is something that grows somewhere it is not supposed to grow. Weed mat installed in the flower beds did not prevent the elm seeds from germinating. I sacrificed many of the occupants of a future forest as they sprung up in my mulched beds. I pulled many a baby oak from the yard–the mother acorn providing the tail to the oak baby. As I make my rounds doing my dead heading of geraniums, I see new elm sprouts. While walking the yard to see the colors of the flowers, I will see a few more acorns attempting to extend their lives while being somewhat camouflaged by the St Augustine grass.

While this time of pulling weeds will pass and focus will shift to making sure the yard and plants receive enough water to stay vibrant, the ambitious seeds of this spring are a reminder of potential life anxious to be truly born. I do wince a bit when I grab hold of the stems and remove the plant from the life-giving soil. I wince even more when I imagine my yard without someone overseeing it. And, while calling me a tree slayer may sound a little extreme, I pale in comparison to lumberjacks.

New Home For Herbs

My daughter has wanted an herb garden for quite some time. She has suggested I rip up some plants from an area she believed was ideal. Once some transplanted plants from last falls projects were deemed “dead”, I let her know I had a place for her herbs.

When she finally had some time available after church last Sunday afternoon, we ran the necessary errands to get the “stuff”. We needed to go the Sprout’s for groceries, but we found a nice selection of herbs as well. (Our 15% discount due to our “adopted sons” employment was helpful.) We gathered our spiced up soil and a couple more herbs at Home Depot. I considered getting landscaping stones to build an elevated bed before deciding to check out a few bricks from our “building materials that didn’t get used when the house was built” bank.

As can be seen in the first picture shown with my daughter, the chosen area does have a grade. We ended up putting bricks over the bottom half of the rectangle. My daughter was impressed with how I used a level to confirm the bricks were mostly level across the course (Architecture definition – a continuous horizontal layer of brick, stone, or other material in a building). A sheet of weed mat was spread across the bed area before the full course of bricks was installed. Due to the grade change, we needed to run a 1/2 course of bricks on the top half of the bed to make sure there was enough soil available for planting there. My daughter truly took ownership of the project. She realized creating a planting bed is more than digging a few holes.

It seemed to have been a good weekend to do the planting. The days following were quite cool and rainy. The remaining issue is whether the sprinkler system will give the plants adequate drinks when the rain leaves. I truly hope the sage, parsley, basil, dill, rosemary, thyme, mint and dill (maybe a peppermint will join them) serve my daughter and the other women (and men) of the household well.

Amaryllis In The Hood

While in Ohio, the amaryllis was a great way to help forget winter. When the temperatures were cold out (usually after the first of the year), I would plant a new amaryllis or pull my old amaryllis out of the basement. Before we left, I had 5+ bulbs I planted every year. They truly did bring a smile to my face.

Now, in Texas, the amaryllis can stay outside all year. My only responsibility is making sure they have a place to live and get watered occasionally. The only downside is the red amaryllis seem to be the best bulbs for blooming. While I still love the hug, monstrous, red blooms, the peppermint amaryllis is still my favorite. (Note: I do consistently like pink in my flowers.) Maybe if I plan well, I can save some room in the hood for a pinkish amaryllis next year.

Walking Down Life's Road With Andy