(Parts 1 and 2.)

Connoisseurs jewelry cleaner.
My mom gave me a jar of this when Rob and I got engaged. It makes rings look like new, and leaves my diamond super-sparkly. If I'm going to be at a jewelry counter for something, I'll ask them to professionally clean and buff my rings. The rest of the time, I swear by this stuff.

Lint roller.
There is no escaping cat hair at our house - with 3 cats, it constantly floats in the air and attaches itself to everything. We have been five days into traveling in a different country only to find a cat hair on one of our shirts. A shirt that was clean when it was packed! Whenever that happens on a trip, I'm like, "Aww, look! A Bridgie hair! I miss that kitty." But the rest of the time? Not so great really. And thus the lint roller.

We keep one in each car glove compartment and in a drawer in the kitchen. Part of the morning ritual is to lint-roll before leaving the house. If I'm wearing black, I'll do it again when I get out of the car because apparently cat hair is floating around in there, too. I used to be coy about it, but now I just stand next to my car and roll that thing all over myself. I can't count the number of times I've said to Rob in a parking lot, "Hold on, I have to lint-roll my boobs." And then, a moment later, "Now can you do my ass?" Somehow this is less scandalous to me than being caught with cat hair on my clothes.

Swivel Sweeper.
Just bought this, so I can't actually say yet if it's something I swear by. But it's got the potential to be. This is one of those As Seen on TV things. I didn't see it on TV, but almost all of my co-workers did and they all LOVE theirs. Like, I have heard them having water-cooler conversations about how amazing their Swivel Sweepers are. Our custodian even bought one to use at work. One day a plant fell off the windowsill and soil went everywhere, and so I got a live demonstration. That sold me.

We have bare floors throughout our house, and I sweep a lot. I'm not sure this will replace sweeping altogether, but it is great for quickly running over the floors every couple days. It's very light, and the small swively head can fit basically anywhere. It maneuvers around chair legs and under the sofa very well. And it doesn't send dust into the air like sweeping does (especially when Rob is sweeping, I'm just saying).

Tupperware Forget Me Not containers.
We always have half an onion or green pepper or tomato in the fridge, and until I bought these, we'd stash them in plastic zipper bags. Which made me feel wasteful and guilty. I got these at a Tupperware party (how quaint, I know) to use instead. I guess oftentimes people forget they have that onion or pepper or tomato leftover, and so these are designed to hang from a fridge shelf to remind you. We don't use them that way, though. I just like that they are the perfect size and shape for all those slicing/chopping foods we keep on hand. Rob's improvement to these would be to make them transparent, because as they are now you can't see what's inside without opening.

TableCraft wine pourer and stopper.
Perhaps the most used, most loved item I have ever bought for the house. That might sound extreme, but keep in mind we drink a hella lot of wine. This thing is a 2-piece deal - a wine pourer, with a stopper that slides out. I've seen other versions, but this one is simpler and more elegant. Also makes a nice gift. I get this item at Target, although I think they recently stopped stocking it. That means you should run to your closest Target now and buy all the ones they have left.

UPDATE:

RzDrms found the fitted sheet! I am not even kidding. Read the comments. She is a GENIUS! Or she's got cameras set up in our house....which, whatever, I don't even care. She found the fitted sheet! BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE INTERNET, people.

*********************

We have lost a fitted sheet. I know. That seems impossible. I mean, it's not like it ever leaves the house, not like we take our own sheets to hotels or something. And yet, this household is less one fitted sheet.

It's a little embarrassing, really. A bit like losing...I don't know, a boat sail? A parachute? Rob has looked everywhere, and I have looked everywhere. Yes, even behind the dryer. Even behind and under the drawer where we store the sheets. Even under the bed. Even in the shower, although really why the hell would it be there?

Usually when something is lost we blame the cats. Because what else are they good for? In this case, they would each have had to grab a corner of the sheet in their teeth and scooted, together, to a secret hiding place.

So far this is our best theory. Because how else does a person lose a fitted fucking sheet?

On the day of September 11, the September 11, I was a senior in college. I was walking across campus to my 11:00 Greek Literature class when I happened to run into Doreen. I hadn't heard about anything. Greek Lit was my first class, and I had slept in and then eaten breakfast in my dorm apartment and then headed to class. Doreen told me two planes had hit the World Trade Center, and I remember thinking that this was an odd coincidence, and tragic news. But I was puzzled by how upset she seemed over some plane crashes. We only spoke briefly, and it never occurred to me that the crashes weren't accidental.

As I slid into my desk, the other students were all abuzz. A couple others sat in silence like me, but most were talking to each other in hushed, concerned whispers. I wondered what they were talking about. I'm not sure I even considered that they might be talking about the planes.

The professor walked in, looking ashen. He said, "Hi everyone. Obviously, with what's happened, I don't think it's appropriate to have class. I know some of you may know people...may want to call family. And frankly, I'm in no shape to teach class right now myself." I realized, then, that what had happened was serious. That somehow the plane crashes were more than just crashes. In the short time I'd been in this course, I had come to really respect this man, and it was unnerving to see him so shaken.

I still didn't know details, still didn't get it. On the way back to my dorm, I overheard someone say that the Pentagon had been hit. And then I understood. I looked up at the sky. We are being attacked.

I turned on the tv as soon as I got inside. The towers had already fallen. I was glued to CNN, although I do not remember what I saw. I do remember that the scenes they showed looked like war zones, and I was astonished this was happening in my own country. And I remember the families and the photos they were holding of loved ones' faces. Oh, the families and the faces. At some point, there was a knock on my door, and when I opened it a campus police officer was standing there. A few weeks before, I had reported that my parking sticker had been stolen off my car, and he had come by to let me know that they'd found the person who'd stolen it. But when I first opened the door and saw the officer, I assumed he had come to evacuate me. Or maybe just to check on me.

As he stepped inside, I glanced again at the tv. We both stood there, watching. It was comforting to have him in my apartment with his uniform and his gun. He was authority and protection. And then he said, shaking his head, "I just... Can you believe this?" And I realized he was as scared as me.

We watched a moment more, and then he told me how they'd found the guy who stole my sticker, how he'd blamed it on his friends, and for a moment things were normal again. For a moment my attention was on a different story, one where the good guys get the bad guy.

He said the thief would buy a new parking sticker for me, and reimburse me for the one he stole. That seemed fair. He asked if I wanted to press charges. I didn't. Justice, in this case, seemed so easy.

I emailed Rob and my mom, who were both in Redneck Valley. I have no idea what I wrote, but it must have conveyed panic because Mom wrote back, "Are you okay?" I found this an ignorant response. Was anyone okay? I decided they must be somehow sheltered back home, must not yet realize the implications of this.

The college issued a statement saying it would not officially cancel classes but that professors were free to do what they felt was appropriate. All my professors canceled, except one. I considered not going, but he had a reputation for being cruel, and I figured he'd make notes of who didn't show. But as I trudged to my 4:00 class, I was furious with him. Did he really think Shakespeare was more important than what was happening in the world right now?

Everyone in class was pissed. What the fuck were we doing here? Who did this jackass professor think he was, making us come to class? We needed to be watching tv. Or calling people. Did he really think we could focus on Shakespeare?

He walked in silently and stood before us. He said, "I know some of you may be personally affected by what has happened, and by all means you should leave. If any of you feel like you can't be here right now, please go. It's okay. But I am from New York, it is my city, and I'll be damned if they are going to stop us. The best thing we can do is refuse to be stopped, to continue with our normal lives as best we can. And so if you need to leave, I understand. But for the next hour and a half, we are going to talk about Shakespeare."

I didn't cry until I went to bed that night. All those faces. I sobbed for the families. And I cried for myself, selfishly but sincerely, because I knew life would never be the same. I was certain we would reinstate the draft, and Rob would have to go. I was wrong about that. I was also certain life in this country had changed in a fundamental way, and that a naive, blissful innocence had been lost. That I was right about.

I had felt the shift. Never had we all been so together, yet so alone.

The kitchen is finished! I repeat, The kitchen is finished! And it only took us 6 months.

We finally decided on a floor, and the flooring people finished installing it yesterday. Hooray!

I keep a list of all the improvements we've made to the house, and as I was looking it over yesterday I realized that we've made some sort of improvement almost every month of this year - major appliances, replacement windows, heat pump, the kitchen. As y'all know, it takes a lot of time to arrange for the details of this sort of thing - researching options, interviewing contractors, making decisions, and, in some cases, doing the actual work.

So many times this year I've told Rob that we need staff - or at least one person to take care of this shit so we don't have to. A household organizer, if you will. And in addition to handling all the home improvements, she can pay the bills and plan meals and run errands and book our travel plans. I would totally pay someone to do that.

The idea of hiring this position took root in our minds, and now we have a Household Organizer named Verity. Who is imaginary. Whenever there is a task to be done that we don't want to do, we assign it to Verity. Which, let's be honest, basically means that I do it.

In looking over this list of stuff we've done to the house, I'm thinking Verity totally needs a raise. And by raise I mean Target shopping spree. And perhaps a pedicure. I think she deserves it.

Number of minutes I just spent reorganizing the stuff on the fridge. Not IN the fridge....ON the fridge. My magnets have never been more orderly. Nor I more lame.

I haven't used my ATM card in years (okay, probably never) because I can't remember my PIN. When I got the card, instead of making my PIN an anniversary date or some significant number, I created a more-or-less random series of digits because that's what you're supposed to do. For protection. My PIN is so protected, in fact, that it is safe even from me. Because I'll be damned if I can remember it.

Our new ATM cards came in the mail last week, but I can't activate mine without the PIN. To change my PIN requires going in person to the bank which requires not only effort but also an admission of imperfection. I've debated whether I should even bother since whenever we need cash, Rob just uses his card. But I've always felt a bit bad about it, like I'm not a fully-functioning independent adult without a usable ATM card.

So today, out of the blue, the number occurred to me. Just...pow! There it is. I called to activate my card, unsure if the PIN would actually work...and it totally did. I'm attributing this to my color-coordinated closet - perhaps the more I organize things, the more uncluttered my mind becomes.

Now if only I could remember to water the plants....

I just sorted the clothes in my closet by color. They now hang in the same order as the hues of a rainbow. This is what happens when one is stressed and the items in the bathroom drawer have already been obsessively arranged.