Soap making

Well, I made a batch of oatmeal milk and honey soap yesterday afternoon. Smelled a little strong, my wonderfully observant 16 yr old male offspring waltzed into the room and so nonchalantly and with not an ounce of care for my feelings announced, it stinks in here! I was aghast, I must admit. How dare he say my soap stinks, although I must agree it was a rather strong smell.

I was going to leave the poured soap in his room to cure (just to show him) but thought better of it when through my mind passed but for a fleeting moment, like a film strip from the olden days, images of my poor soap being attacked by the legions of dust bunnies that undoubtedly hide behind the chaise chair in this perfectly unfeeling and callous teenage child of mine....oh, just thought of that song....Guns and Roses...Sweet Child of Mine. Remember them? Remember you when you listened to them? I know I do, I thought I was a cool dude back then, er dudette rather.

Instead, I let my soap sit on top of one of my bookcases in my office, which by the way is adjacent to this particular child's bedroom. Yeah, I am mean that way. After I couldn't tolerate the smell myself I took it to my jewelry-making room. There it will remain until further notice which basically translates to: when it is finished "curing" in about 4 weeks. The smell will then be deliciously delightful.

In the meantime, I will have to either avoid that room at all costs until the strong scent fades a little bit or I will go in there and light one of my many candles and try to overpower the strong scent with another equally strong or stronger scent. I will sit and make jewelry and watch Court TV or some such equally important and educational program. I'll probably get a headache from all the different smells and have to leave and seek shelter elsewhere in the house, away from the kids and the pets.

Of course, due to my inability to go into my "private oasis of peace" I will undoubtedly go into a depression in my own darkened bedroom and ponder the meaning of life. After all of that self-induced depression cycle of, oh, about 10 whole minutes, my 8 year old little princess will run into my room, turn on the light and ask, "what are you doing, mommy...are you trying to rest? Okay, I'll leave you to take a nap." Only to come back exactly 10 minutes later and repeat.

A shame really when a tired mom can't even be depressed in peace, huh? Come visit my website so you can see the work I must create to add a little bit of spice to my boring, seemingly humdrum life. www.ricosilver.com