Guest-less again

I just did some quick maths and in the last five months (really, the last four since we moved into the flat at the end of January), we've had eleven house guests. We've got another coming today and then my parents make it up for the London leg of their trip in early June...and more of James' family in July and on and on....

As a result of all this traffic, I've become pretty good at turning over our guest room and getting it up to scratch for the next arrival. I feel like I may have missed my calling in the hospitality industry...would you like mint for pillow?

While I certainly don't mind the constant influx of visitors, I'm going to have to get better at learning how to maintain my routine when guests come to visit. I cherish being able to get to the gym (and it's physio-related anyway, so I have to make it a priority) and also being on top of my game where our meals are concerned. I've noticed that when guests come I end up adopting their vacation mentality, which isn't going to bode well for me if our guest rate stays at this level. Just because people come to stay doesn't mean that my good habits should go out the window; I need to still make it a priority to take care of myself and James. I feel better when I take the time to care for myself and it isn't fair to me that I feel I can't take that time just because we have guests.

That said, I also need to get better at being a hands-off host. Obviously if guests want company for activities (and they ask me to accompany them) and they fit with my schedule, then yes, I'd love to go along. I've gotten to have some interesting experiences and learn some really neat stuff as a result of hosting so many different people for which I'm very thankful! It's been a fantastic by-product of this move and something I wouldn't give up for the world. But I need to learn that I can't make my guests' vacation into my vacation. I'm comfortable with the city, but I'm by no means a pro. I can't tell you what everything we pass happens to be or why something is the way it is...I'm still learning too! And aside from the whirlwind itinerary I'm planning for my folks, I can't feel pressured to making the plans for every guest who arrives at our doorstep. It's going to leave me feeling disappointed, upset and guilty and that's not cool. I can't take responsibility for everyone's vacation, nor should I feel obligated to ensure that everyone has a good time. That's out of my control.

So yeah, that's what I'm going to be working on in the coming months. Being a good host with reasonable limits. I suspect it will be much easier once I'm working since James' attitude is completely different and far more in line with the one I'd like to adopt.

Salt: Now it's just ridiculous

I honestly didn't think I'd be writing another salt post any time soon. There's already a book on the market (which, coincidently, I have read and thoroughly enjoyed) and I've written extensively on the topic in two other riveting posts. What more could I add?

Well, how about this photo:

THAT is the amount of salt I had to buy for the dishwasher. I put it beside our other comically larger bottle of salt to help drive home the scale of 3kg of salt. 3kg of salt. That I carried home from the grocery store in a carrier bag (Tesco, as you can see from the label). Had I known when I left the house that I'd be bringing home all of the groceries and 3kg of salt, I'd have brought my trolley. What is up with the salt in this country?!

On the plus side, I was having a rather out of sorts day and when I realised that this was the only option for dishwasher salt I got to have a much-needed laugh in the aisle at the grocery store. Yeah, nothing off-putting about a girl staring at the salt, alone, and laughing.

So, I bought the salt and dragged it home. It was only then that I re-read the directions regarding the salt. You know, the ones I posted to the blog not a week earlier?? Yeah, apparently I was so stunned by the dishwasher-needs-salt issue that I misread how much salt was actually required. I have highlighted this for the convenience of the tl;dr crowd:

How did I miss that!?!

Anyway, now we are fully stocked up on salt and the dishwasher is once again happen. And I will endeavour to never discuss salt again!

Hmm, the dishwasher could use more salt

I wish I was joking, but I'm serious. The dishwasher needs more salt. The hard reality of hard water is that apparently the dishwasher requires special salt to operate. And, because they require special salt, it means that I can't just use my never-run-out-until-you're-dead-or-maybe-even-later* supply of salt. I have to BUY MORE SALT. Groan.

When we moved in I read all the manuals for the appliances and made a note of the salt issue, but I didn't give it another thought until I went to clean the dishwasher. James, however, beat me to it and actually cleaned the dishwasher himself just a day earlier (there may be hope for him yet on the cleaning front!). 

Anyway, as I was marvelling at the fact that someone else had gotten to the grubby dishwasher seals before me, I noticed the salt compartment and thought back to what I'd read. I fished out the manual and tried to figure out how the dishwasher would tell me it needed more salt. Apparently it uses an indicator light. In fact, it uses the light on the control panel that has been very brightly on since we moved into the flat. In January. Oops.

Join me, when I finally make it to the grocery store, for another riveting salt-filled adventure. Alternatively, if Finish, whose dishwasher tabs we already use, would like to just send me a packet, that would be awesome too.

Also upcoming: I will talk at length about hard water. I know, you can hardly wait!

*A little nod to Purple, Green and Yellow by Robert Munsch. Thanks to my parents for reading to me all the time as a child!

A wrinkle in my plan

I've brought my iPad with me on the train in the hopes that I'd be able to turn out some amazing entry that's profound, introspective and thought-provoking, but James is sitting across from me in a wrinkled shirt. It's like he's absolutely clueless that I detest wrinkled clothing. He's not. He knows I can't stand when he wears a rumpled shirt. Or when the bed sheets have such wrinkles that I lay awake at night wishing I could pull them off of him and give them a thorough ironing. He knows. He's watched my tortured agony when I'm forced to accept that ironing our sheets is not the best use of my time and I must grit my teeth and make the bed "as is."

With all of this knowledge at his disposal, he still chose to pull the freshly-laundered-but-not-yet-meticulously-ironed shirt from the hanger, and believe it was a wise move. Foolish, foolish James.

Point of Interest: Martha Stewart has an entire ROOM in one of her houses devoted to ironing. She has huge machines that iron sheets. I think I've mentioned this somewhere before. She's my ironing hero, second to my dad, who taught me how to iron (Sorry dad, Martha has a whole room for ironing. You taught me to iron in the laundry room - true, that is a room, but with multiple uses so it just isn't the same). James clearly doesn't have an ironing hero...if he did, he wouldn't commit such a heinous crime against good taste.

God, and he won't stop talking so that I can finish this before I lose Internet connection. C'mon James! Yeesh.