One of the things I really love about my husband is how I always feel safe with him. He’s a big dude, and can be intimidating if he wants to be. It’s like the best of both worlds, really: he’s such a super nice guy, and people so often seem relieved to discover that he’s not some aggressive badass, they fall all over themselves being accommodating. I love that we can go anywhere, any time, and nobody EVER gives us a hard time or talks shit to him. It’s downright delightful.

And I feel like sort of an authority on being messed with, because I used to be married to a guy who was NOT the least bit intimidating. He was a fairly small guy, not the least bit confrontational, and people obviously picked up on that vibe, because they messed with us all the time! So often, we’d be at a show or a bar or restaurant, and some drunk asshole would start hassling us. And it was always ME having to resolve the situation. I hated that! I’m very pleased that I’ve left behind that whole phase of my life. What can I say: I like my man to be the man, y’know?

Today, I was having lunch out with my daughters and I overheard a couple of guys a table away from us. They were 30ish, dressed business casual, and totally engaged in their conversation about…TWILIGHT. They were talking about seeing New Moon over the weekend with their wives, and actually discussing the differences between the book and the movie. It was like listening to my teenage daughter and her best friend going on about who is hotter, Jacob or Edward.

I can understand guys going to see Twilight with their wives; I drag my husband to see movies I pick out all the time. But if he started talking about Twilight with his buddies, they’d probably threaten to punch him in the vagina. Come on, guys – we let you have Transformers. Leave Twilight for the girls!

I have stumbled upon a phenomenon I can barely get my head around, and it seemed important enough that it could CHANGE LIVES – so naturally, I’m blogging about it.

Did you KNOW…your house will stay clean if you turn off your computer? Yeah. Crazy shit, I know. But hear me out. It turns out, if you spend just one hour a day cleaning, your house will sparkle and shine. Who knew? Now, I’m not talking about “picking up” or “straightening the front room” or anything like that. I’m talking about actual c-l-e-a-n-i-n-g.

I performed this little experiment this week. Every day, I picked something to focus on for a solid hour. One day, I did the kitchen – REALLY scrubbing the surfaces, shining the appliances, actually moving the table and chairs out of here to mop – all of it. Another day, I vacuumed every inch of carpet in the house, including the stairs, and using the crevice tool to get around everything. And on another day, I dusted everything. Cough. Choke. I didn’t realize what a pit this place was. But you should see my house! It’s soooo cleeeeean! (Underneath all the toy clutter.)

If you spend one uninterrupted hour every day with a sponge or a vacuum in your hand at all times, your house will shine. For reals.

Until your kids walk in the door from school, anyway.

That’s a Snoop Dogg lyric, did you know that? Betcha didn’t. I don’t imagine Big Snoopy D-O-double-G was considering the plight of the stay-at-home-mother when he wrote it, but I can sure relate to it.

Things are swell. Things are great! Things are a train wreck and a half! I keep thinking that if I just embrace it and own it and realize once and for all that this is our normal, I’ll deal with things better. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m just going to write about it so it all makes sense for me, because I really think it’s scariest when it’s inside my own head. Once I get it out in the open, it’s like, eh. No biggie.

My oldest child is seriously struggling in school. We’re almost mid-way through freshman year, and thing’s aren’t going well. She’s so painfully unmotivated, and it’s something we’ve been dealing with for the past four years now. I can’t even begin to list all the many ways we’ve tried to light a fire under her ass. She’s just so damned apathetic, and it’s something I see over and over with kids her age. We want so badly for our kids to have what we didn’t have, and to not have to struggle or go without, and because of it, they value NOTHING. My husband grew up poor, and actually was homeless several times as a child. He’s mentioned many times that he wishes our kids could go through a safer version of what he went through, just so they’d know what it’s like to not have electricity or to have to sleep in the car. I don’t know that we need to go THAT far with it, but I sure wish there was a way to boot these kids in the ass a little, and make them realize that the world doesn’t revolve around them and their skinny jeans. I think I’m going to start dragging my daughter out on Saturday mornings to volunteer in a soup kitchen or something.

Besides the drama with the teenager, I feel like I’m losing my mind a little in this crazy house. Or my hearing, anyway. I’ve never been around such LOUD children before. From the time they wake up until the time they snuggle up and fall asleep at night, they are SHOUTING at one another. I’m sure it’s at least partially genetic, since I’m married to the loudest man on the planet. Normally, I’m not bothered by it at all, but it seems like they’ve cranked it up to eleven this week. We need to start a marathon round of The Quiet Game.

And when I left my house today, it was CLEAN. It even smelled good. Every bed was made, every inch of carpet vacuumed. Within an hour of returning home with four monkeys, the house looked like I hadn’t touched it. I found toys, shoes, books, and clothing on the floor in five different rooms before dinnertime. Erma Bombeck once said that trying to clean house when you have small children is like shoveling while it’s still snowing. I can’t think of a better comparison! Still, I’m thankful that I have my five monsters, and we have a roof over our heads. Things could definitely be worse.

Tomorrow, I think I’m going to take myself out for sushi.

It’s snowing like crazy here, which can only mean one thing: time to make green chile! Aww, who am I kidding. We eat green chile all the time. Sometimes my husband picks up a quart at La Casita, but mostly, I make it myself. I buy roasted green chiles by the bushel in fall, and freeze them in quart-sized Ziplock bags so we can enjoy them through the year. Here’s my recipe. Whip up a batch, and eat it alongside your bean or egg burritos.

Green Chile

• 1 lb. cheap boneless pork roast – buy it on sale and freeze it!
• 1 quart-size ziplock bag green chiles – roasted, peeled, seeded, and chopped
• Several jalapeño peppers, seeded and chopped – optional
• 1/2 to 1 c. flour, seasoned liberally with salt, pepper, cumin, chili powder, and garlic powder
• 2 quarts chicken stock

Cut pork roast into small pieces. Dredge in flour. Cook in a small amount oil until brown and crispy. Remove from pan; leave drippings. Add a little more oil to the pan and add the rest of the flour, and maybe even a little more.  Add chicken stock a little at a time, stirring constantly with medium-high heat. Add all other ingredients, including the browned pork. Simmer about 2-3 hours. If chili is too thin, thicken it up with a little flour or cornstarch.

This is one of those things you just learn how to make from experience – it’s kind of hard to write down all the ingredients and instructions and the quantities and techniques without losing a little something in the translation.  The most important thing to remember is to have fun with it, and don’t be afraid to improvise a little. I’ve used pork stew meat, pork tenderloin, pork chops, pork cube steak – whatever I have on hand or can find on sale. I’ve also made it with a big can of green chiles instead of fresh – still yummy.

I don’t have any Thanksgiving decorations. I always see them in Walmart (around, uh, AUGUST or so) and think to myself, “I really need a wreath made out of fake orange leaves.” And then I talk myself out of it, because I know I’d take it down the day after Thanksgiving and promptly lose it. I KNOW where the Halloween stuff is, and I KNOW where the Christmas stuff is: stuffed into about thirty boxes in the rafters of my garage! One little wreath just doesn’t have a home, y’know? I’d lose it, and then be all angry and bitter the next November, when I couldn’t find it. So I don’t.

And then I find myself in this no-man’s-land between Halloween and Christmas. I still have about nine boxes of Halloween costumes and decor, neatly stacked up in the living room, just waiting to make their way back out to the garage. I can’t drag the tree in until that stuff is GONE. And, since this is our first year in this house, I’m excited and can’t wait to decorate. Hurry up, husband! Put away the Halloween stuff so I can break out the Christmas stuff! (Translation: move your motorcycle out of the way so I can get to the ladder.)
The kids and I were talking about Christmas yesterday, and came to the realization that it’s a mere six weeks from right now! I think we should get that tree up THIS WEEKEND. Seriously. I’m going to be worn out from cooking all day on Thanksgiving, and probably won’t be in the mood to do it then. Why not now? I missed having a tree up last year, since we moved over Christmas weekend – I should get to make up for lost time.

The only thing bringing me down is that damned Dora Christmas CD the kids keep listening to. It might get lost soon, I’m thinking.