ironing al fresco at midnight

Ya, haa, ha, ha. How far away from the truth is this? Mothers (and some fathers too, I guess) everywhere have been working away preparing for the Chrsitmas frenzy of feasting and exchange. I've seen women in the supermarket today with big round, I'm so tired but I just can't stop until it's all done eyes. I never realised how much work Christmas with children could be until this one. It should be more fun. It will be more fun.

And talking about presents, who in the right mind would give someone an ironing board for Christmas? Unless they really, really wanted one? The Christmas my dad gave my mum an axe as a present is legendary in out family. Don't do it fellas.

This picture is from a 2002 Home Beautiful, from a little section the back (hence the less than clear picture) where they poke fun at the appliances and household trends from the past. In the future it'll be breadmakers?

I feel as though I'm well behind here. Several pictures ready and waiting to have words put around them, including two from others which are my favourite sort. Hopefull there'll be some time for idle writing in the post christmas lull. Or I may just watch dvds on the couch. I certainly won't be ironing (unless sewing realated) that's for sure.

 

So anyway, I'm nearly all done. Because otherwise why would I be doing a blog post? Tonight after Grace unwraps presents from her Tasmanian side of the family (presents on Christmas eve is a German tradition so I'm told and spreading it all out works for me), eats some chocolate and goes to bed (hopefully), we're going to wrap her presents, put them under the tree and drink a bottle of lambrusco. All of it. And then tommorrow will come as it will.

So Merry Christmas readers!

first day of summer

Yesterday was gorgeous, warm but not too hot. A flower scented balmy breeze wafting through the garden. G did a load of washing and I watched it dry as I sat in the sunroom with my sewing. The washing stayed out all night but that's alright, it's summer now. Now, he's bought it all in because he's mowing the law, before the plums start to fall. Maybe I should go help with the folding, ahem.

No doubt, it will get hotter and drier. The balmy nights will give way to those awful, too hot nights. The sort where you don't sleep well and the next day is hard because it's still too hot and everyone is grumpy and tired, and complaining about the heat. Yet it's kind of relaxed because it's too hot to actually do anything but drink beer and other long cold drinks and eat icypoles. Early summer though, just lovely.

clean your teeth, domestic goddess

   

Home Beautiful, October 2001. Obviously being a domestic goddess was the new next big thing, but with a nod to the blokes. Because it was, afterall, the beginning of a new millenium. Personally I think the whole domestic goddess thing was a bit of a fizzer, except for Nigella, but then she was/is a category all of her own. And I suspect baking is far more glamorous than laundry will ever be.

 

Although laundry provides one with more opportunities to be bitter and cantakerous. Says she clutching a frozen teething ring wrapped in a tea towell to her jaw. Typing one handed. On her third round of panadol/ibuprofen since the root canal installment this afternoon. Without anaesthetic (of which she is insanely proud).

Eventhough I would admire (drool over) a linen cupboard with a pile of very neat folded sheets, I am pretty certain that I will never, ever fold a fitted sheet like this. And neither will G. But Suse might. So this is for her. Complete with wonky instructions that mention domestic gods who read magazines and fold. Yes, those domestic gods.

Yesterday, as I hung out the lintiest load of washing ever, I thought to myself, there's no way I am anything but a sad domestic mortal. Note to self, do not wash black t-shirts with white fringed beach towells. Especially not in a washing machine that has no lint filter. When I came to bring in that load of laundry, I couldn't bear to put it away. It was just to awful to contemplate wearing t-shirts that linty.  Then I had a moment of domestic competence and cleaned out the washing machine. I wiped it, de-gunked anything I could see and then ran a cycle with a full load of water and 2 litres of cheapo vinegar. Which cleans away all the soap scum and leaves it all a fair bit cleaner than before. I thought of Jude, because when she asked I didn't think I knew anything about how to clean a washing machine. But there you go. I don't think I could justify doing it very often, because of the water, but my t-shirts came out a fair bit less linty the second time around. Not perfect but bearable.

yet another use for the hills hoist

The other evening at the dentist, as I was waiting for my root canal treatment, flicking through the trashy magazines and trying not to be bothered by the sounds of two radios (on different stations) and a dental video, I happened upon this. In the current Cosmopolitan, a magazine I would never buy, because I am far too old for that sort of nonsense. Indeed, I think I'm probably old enough now to be the mother of women in this demographic. But anyway.

 

It's an ad for jeans. And there's another one in the same series where the man is wedged in what looks like a commercial ironing press in some sort of factory. I'd include it here but the picture came out kind of blurry. This looks like some sort of caravan park. Romanticising poverty, or are they on holidays? Housework as a kind of domination, slightly kinky and perverted? Instead of just plain work. Or is it just a convenient angle for his butt?

in the country

Of ccourse, when I go away for the weekend, I immediately check out the laundry features. Of course. Not. But I always do notice them. Forgive me if I'm being sarcastic, I've had a couple of vodka cruisers (yum, melon and raspberry) and it's been a long, long week. All the more ardous after a glorious half weekend away. At the end of a very intense few weeks. Our routines are shot, Mr Helpalot has started a new job, the house is absolutely feral and I just could not be bothered ironing my work clothes last week. So I looked even more rumpled than usual.

But I wouldn't have missed the weekend for quids and isn't this a beauty to behold.

I very much like the path and the stump to put the washing basket on. The view in the morning would be full of soft light and mist in the winter. And you'd see a sunset when you were bring the washing in. Or at least, I would because I'm slack and tend to leave as long as I can. To delay cluttering up the house and needing to be folded. My only worry with this washing line would be snakes, there's lots of long grass nearby and it looks like snake territory to me.