Cleanliness is next to something

Today’s theme is clean.

First, let me tout a product that I’ve just discovered and love. (I know, I’m a Mel-come-lately, so you probably have one already, but just in case…) It’s the amazing and delightful Clorox Bleach Pen. Forget its wonderful bleaching capabilities on white clothing, and skip directly to Go—Go Clean Your Bathroom, of course!

(Let me say up front that, while this item worked great for me, I have white tile and a white tub in my bathroom—my using bleach was not a risk. I think it would work fine on any tile and/or porcelain glazed finish, but if you have brilliant colors in your crapper, check the fine print on the pen before you go crazy.)

Once colorfast safety has been confirmed, have at it, brothers and sisters!!! This is awesome stuff! It’s a slightly runny, gel-like substance, and because the pen has both fat and skinny tips, you can hit even tough little places like yucky grout lines. Or, rub the thick end on some tough stains in the area around the drain, or on foul brown places surrounding the faucet. It works best if you let it sit for a few minutes before washing the area. Suffice it to say that this wand is the best; lauding it further would only reveal the horrible state of my bathroom before said pen was discovered. (In fairness, I've also heard that those Mr. Clean Magic Erasers are very cool, too—but I don't know how they stand up in the tub-and-tile realm.) I would give these bleach pens away to everyone I know as Christmas gifts, except I don’t want to insult anyone with the not-so-subtle implication that their home is less than clean already.

Now for the other clean-related topic: why does my child fear the washing machine? He doesn’t fear the appliance itself, only the freshness it wreaks on his fuzzy toys and blankets. I’ve tried a few times recently to wash his malodorous twin teddies, his favorite spitty blue thermal blanket, his little floppy elephant that has dried booger on its toe… but the moment I get any of those items near the laundry basket, the child objects. In the past few days, he’s really become paranoid; as soon as he sees me picking up one of his favorites, he calls me on it: “Mama, where blanket go? Where you take Ellie?”

I did manage to covertly sneak the most contaminated teddy into the laundry last week—after the boy had fallen asleep for his nap. All went well, and the sanitized bear was back in his bed when he awoke; he never had a clue. I couldn’t get hold of them both, sadly—he was clutching one tightly, and I knew I’d never pull it out of his grasp without waking him.

So, what’s with his love of sullied, tainted soft toys? Is it the familiar stench of them? The well-known, well-loved crusty places? The fact that his favorite toys are never quite dry? Bleaahhh.

Hope he grows out of this; I'd hate to have to involve Hazmat several times a year, but...