Tag: Home

The Lost Art of Homemaking: Image of a crocus in foreground, a house in the background.
Life

The Lost Art of Homemaking (A Spring-Cleaning Primer)

by Kathleen Guire I love cleaning. I know. Not everyone does. I love order, organizing, and making things beautiful. Homemaking is an art that many in our culture have discarded. Perhaps we back down from beautifying our space because we don’t think it’s “beautiful enough.” The barrage of HGTV picture-perfect homes and Instagram design accounts

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Messy House: Image of messy dining room
Life

Levels, Shame, and Joy… Oh, my! (Aka: Bless this messy house.)

To Do List Clean (really clean) the first level Straighten the second level Bank Gas Consignment Shop Pick up coffee beans at Quantum Bean Drop tin of cookies (with note) at Blatter house Dear Mr. and Mrs. Blatter: I’m writing to apologize… For the time I wouldn’t let you use the bathroom in our house

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Confessions of a Former Neat Freak: Image of our living room--my (curated) haven.
Family

Confessions of a Former Neat Freak (because hardly anyone actually does “drop by when they’re in the neighborhood”)

Confession: I peeked inside my daughter’s diary once. I didn’t intend to, but there it was, wide open on her bedside table. Instead of disclosing her crush-of-the-moment, her fifth-grade handwriting read, “I wish Mom didn’t care so much about how the house looks.” Her secret ran me through like a skewer. The constant clutter in

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Bedbugs 101: image of a business card for Chez Tarantini Bedbug and Breakfast.
Life

Bedbugs 101 (aka: My Deepest, Darkest Secret—Well, One of Them)

(This post includes affilated links.) I don’t remember who got bit first but eventually, everyone did. You could play connect-the-dots on our son’s midsection. Tony Bear’s neck and ears blossomed with thumbprint-sized welts that itched ferociously. In time, both girls also suffered with itchee-owies. I was bitten a time or two. At first we weren’t

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What to do when a raccoon invades your home
Life

What to Do If a Raccoon Breaks Into Your Home–Three Times

It was the rudest of awakenings, hearing the screen of our bedroom window—our third floor bedroom window—being rattled violently in the middle of the night. I leapt out of bed and raced over, fearing one of our cats—Bonnie Agnes or Boots Louise—was nudging the screen loose and might soon be falling three stories. Sure enough,

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Life

On the Homefront: Catching Up Is Hard to Do

Basement Repair Guy: Why did you wait so long to call? Me: Because I thought our foundation might be cracked and it would cost $30,000 to fix. Basement Repair Guy: “So your husband Shop-Vac’d 90 gallons of water off your basement floor every time there was a hard rain? For 20 years?” Me: (hanging head)

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