MH's Mother Mayhem

I spent the morning cleaning up substances that came out of the backside of my aging Corgi that would make the most seasoned CSI agent cringe. I believe Martha Stewart, the queen of domesticity, doesn’t have a solution for this mess in her playbook which got me thinking…

Tell Martha That It Takes More Than Windex!

In a rare moment of solitude I found something miraculous, an empty couch and the TV remote in plain sight.  I immediately sat down and enjoyed my moment of power. I quickly flipped past MTV, The Disney Channel and headed to The Martha Stewart Show.  The woman does not understand my life. Does she really expect me to gather eggs from my coop out back while waiting for the dough to rise for stone-ground wheat bread to accompany the three blend juice she just squeezed between her thighs?  Oh, this is even better, tips on the proper way to remove a pesky water stain from a marble surface. Amateur!

 I would like to see her get red hot candies and hardened frosting out of collie fur.  As long as I can remember my family has lived through clean up challenges that have gone way beyond Windex and elbow grease.  My poor mother was forced to contend with my brother who at the age of three discovered a black Sharpie marker. Why he chose to darken his private “anatomy” is still a mystery.  My Mom being from a family of female offspring thought it was going to fall off and needed the reassurance of numerous paediatricians to convince her otherwise. 

 Trickle down DNA reared its ugly head when my eldest child pulled an “Uncle Jim” and found my permanent markers. She however, had a greater variety of hues at her disposal. While I attempted to secure a festive bow around the neck of an unwilling pooch, she was busy decorating her sister’s face before the annual holiday photo. 

In the well-known children’s book, Harold had his purple crayon; in our house Helena had a Bic black ink pen.  It started off so innocently.  She wanted to show me what a big girl she was by using the writing instrument to scribble her “name” on notebook paper. Always one to think outside the box or in this case the lined paper, her pen made a pilgrimage up the side of the off white leather couch until she happened upon the flat seat cushion that would become her canvas. It was difficult to get angry when the subject matter was yours truly dressed in a pretty princess dress complete with dangly earrings. I can now share with Martha, Soft Scrub with bleach, and hairspray are amazing at removing ink from leather.

It is my personal belief that an operator’s permit should be required before purchasing Chapstick. First this unknown substance that I’m certain is a molecule away from something illegal, somehow snuck into the dryer. I would love to know what Martha would recommend for melted lip balm on fuzzy pjs.  The creative middle child discovered that various colours of Chapstick placed between the spaces of a wicker nightstand are a great way to make a rainbow. It does not appear anywhere in the “Parenting 101 Manual” that you could be spending 2.4 hours picking a waxy substance out of  small crevices with a toothpick.

 Martha has returned from a commercial break and is stating with great authority the importance of   “pretty towels”.  I have only known one woman who has successfully maintained “pretty towels”.  I can understand why after seeing the look in her eyes when asked what would happen if someone defaced her latest. It was hanging in her guest bathroom like a museum piece. I naively splurged on pretty towels. One met a premature demise after being bleached from acne face wash and other met its ending with the end of a dog. Enough said.

  Before Martha expounds on the virtues of making homemade candles, as we know this family has its wax issues, I am flipping to the Animal Planet.  At least I will feel relieved that someone else’s pet is misbehaving more than mine.