The time I scrubbed the kitchen floor

The time I scrubbed the kitchen floor is one of my grandma’s favorite stories to tell about me. I was about four years old. I was visiting at my grandma’s house and I told her to lie on the sofa so that I could take care of her and clean the house. I even made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. By the way, my cooking skills have not improved much.

The photoshop skills are strong in this one. Ahem.

Then I pulled a stool up to the sink and washed all of the dishes. For my grand finale, I decided to scrub the kitchen floor.

Be impressed by this fancy “time lapse” drawing.

This was the early 1980s: there were no child safety locks on the cabinets, and despite his popularity back then, there was no Mr. Yuk sticker in sight as I looked under the sink to choose which cleaning products to use. My grandmother’s kitchen was enormous and I probably spent an hour in there on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor while my grandma rested. When I was finished I was so proud of myself and I called my grandma into the room to see the sparkly clean kitchen.

My grandma’s reaction in her own words:

“I will never forget the sight. You had scrubbed the whole floor with Comet and it was so thick on the floor that’s all you could see. When grandpa came home from work he had to really scrub the floor. But you tried and really did a good job with Comet.”

Yes, I had used Comet to scrub the kitchen floor, probably because that’s what we used at home to clean out our cast iron bathtub and it was the only household cleanser that I had prior experience with. The entire kitchen floor was covered in a thick layer of beautiful blue, gritty Comet. My grandma was shocked, but she only praised my hard work. My grandpa, who had to clean up my mess and rewash the dishes, was far less enthusiastic about my “job well done”.

Scrubbing the kitchen floor with Comet? Epic fail! And I can’t really say that my cleaning skills have improved much since then…

Do you have an epic cleaning fail? Did you ever scrub something with Comet that you should’nt have? Let me know in the comments!

Today, April 07, is No Housework Day! Celebrate with me and my pal Rachael from Non-Domestic Mama by linking up your housework and anti-housework related posts here. You can also “like” the No Housework Party Facebook Page and party on Twitter using the hashtag #nohousework!

I Make Myself the Queen is an itty-bitty newborn blog. Please be gentle with it, wash your hands before touching it, and be sure to come back often to tell it how cute it is!


Read my family blog www.coolestfamilyontheblock.com where I pretend to be a good mom.

Honey Jo, my favorite childhood toy

Honey Jo came into my possession when I was around 8 years old. My memory of it is pretty foggy but I recall being in the parsonage basement for a church auction. There were a bunch of items displayed on tables and everyone had fake money and they were raising their hands and calling out numbers. Quite frankly, I was bored to tears.

But then I saw a big teddy-bear on one of the tables and decided that I wanted it. When the time came I kept raising my hand and shouting numbers…I had no idea what was going on. There was at least one jerk that kept bidding against me, a small child, but others were frantically shoving their fake money at me as I kept raising my bid. In the end, the bear was mine, although I’m not certain how legitimate it was. Someone probably told that other loser to knock it off and let the poor little girl have the bear. Jesus loves you. Hallelujah and Amen.

The bear’s name was Honey Jo. I’m assuming that was the name on the tag because I know that I didn’t name him that myself. I was happy with my bear. He was a cuddly, snugly, armful of goodness…perfect for hugs.

But shortly after bringing him home, something just wasn’t right. Honey Jo just didn’t seem like a boy to me. He just didn’t. So after much contemplation, I did what any good teddy-bear mommy would do…

I had his bowtie removed.

The bowtie removal surgery left a few small scars. Then the bow was reattached to the ear as a lovely “hair”/ear bow. And Honey Jo became Honey Joanna.

…except he didn’t really. I never could bring myself to call him “Joanna”, and I was always confusing my pronouns. To this day I refer to Honey Jo as “him” more often than not. This upsets my daughter who now shares a room with Honey Jo but doesn’t know anything about his/her past. To her, Honey Jo is clearly a girl.

Whether I mix up my pronouns or not, Honey Jo loves me no matter what and is a beloved toy and trusted stuffed friend.

And he still gives the best hugs.

This post is linked to…
Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop 4.) A childhood toy you once loved.

I Make Myself the Queen is an itty-bitty newborn blog. Please be gentle with it, wash your hands before touching it, and be sure to come back often to tell it how cute it is!


Read my family blog www.coolestfamilyontheblock.com

There’s a bra in my lunchbox

You may have already read this story on my other blog a few years ago, but it’s back complete with illustrations.

Don’t trade lunches with Jenny!

(Why yes, my elementary school was extremely tiny and it was also shaped like a poorly drawn pencil ;))

My mother, being the evil genius that she is, decided to find me the most itchy, scratchy, uncomfortable bra that she could possibly find. This way I’d be quiet about wanting a bra and I’d see that growing up too fast isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Her evil plan had worked and since she saw that I had learned my lesson, she never made me wear that horrible bra again.

The joke was on her 5 years later when I actually needed a bra and she had to practically wrestle me into one! I had no desire to ever wear one again after my traumatic experience in the first grade. I required one with no underwire, no lace, no trim, no padding. Two band-aids would’ve done a better job. Then a few years after that when I really blossomed, I went the other direction and wore my bra constantly, I even slept in it every night.

In my late teens I would get a job in the lingerie department of a local department store and would eventually become a fit consultant and the department manager for 5 years.

Sadly my mom got rid of my Popples lunchbox years ago and now I have to keep all of my bras in a drawer like a normal person.

When did you get your first bra?
Were you excited about it or embarrassed?
Was your bra itchy and uncomfortable too?
Let me know in the comments!

This was linked to Mama’s Kat Writer’s Workshop for the prompt:
3.) Write a post inspired by the word: bra

Related Posts:
*Awkward: I sold my teacher what?!!!
*Dear Diary: I’m kind of a stalker

I Make Myself the Queen is an itty-bitty newborn blog. Please be gentle with it, wash your
hands before touching it, and be sure to come back often to tell it how cute it is!


Read my family blog www.coolestfamilyontheblock.com