Yicky

February is yicky. Yicky and blah, with a brief glimmer of pink on Valentine's Day, unless you happen to be alone (as many are), in which case it morphs into the black brand of Single's Awareness Day.

Fortunately, March has arrived. The sun is shining, Spring is coming, and I am smiling. I'm smiling because I'm pulling my life back together following the dreary winter blues. I've gone on a cleaning spree, thanks to the FlyLady. A friend recommended a book called Sink Reflections. I'm not one for testimonials, but I really have noticed a positive change since adopting some of her mottos and routines. My sink is sparkling, the meals are planned, the laundry's done, and I finally feel like I'm on top of things.

Best of all, for the first time in a very long time, I'm actually enjoying my personal scripture study. Since my clothes have been laid out the night before, I have time to ponder and reflect as I study in the morning (before the baby's awake). With the house tidy and clean, I can concentrate on what I'm reading, listening to the still, small voice of the Spirit instead of the obnoxious shouts of the dishes screaming "Wash me! Wash me!"

Despite my overall pleasure with my newly organized home, I must tell you that the FlyLady caused one of the most disgusting messes to ever occur within the walls of my home. It is an absolute commandment that all FlyBabies (newbies trying to declutter their lives) must wear lace-up shoes, particularly while at home. So, obedient child that I am, I wore my sneakers while cooking chicken for dinner the other night. I was just finishing the last of the dishes when I felt something slimy beneath my feet. I looked down and was horrified to discover mashed chicken guts all over the floor! I had stepped on a piece of raw chicken, wedging it in the sole of my sneaker without even realizing it. Needless to say, I spent my daily fifteen-minute cleaning session disinfecting that mess!

Not to be outdone, Brooklyn quickly took over the champion title of GROSS. I inadvertently left the toilet brush out instead of tucking it back in the closet immediately. My mistake. My big mistake. My big yicky mistake. A few minutes later, I spied Brooklyn with the toilet brush in one hand. She was using her other hand to scoop up the nasty water that had collected in the toilet brush holder. I caught her just as she started to suck her fingers after a nice big dip.

Yick.