The 5 Chores You Should Tackle This Summer

Kaley Belakovich:

Check out my article on AllYou!

Originally posted on Daily Savings From All You Magazine:

Usually people tackle big cleaning projects in the spring, but Angie’s List thinks these 5 chores are best left to the summer months. 

by Kaley Belakovich

Spring cleaning may be over, but there’s always more cleaning to do. Follow these tips for a clean summer.

Summer — the word brings visions of vacations, beaches and relaxation to mind. Unfortunately, life happens, and areas of your home still need to be cleaned. Tackle these cleaning projects during the summer months while the weather is warm and sunny.

Window cleaning
When the sun shines brightly through your windows all summer, any children’s fingerprints, dog nose prints or dirt will be clearly visible. Since window cleaning requires either working outside or removing the windows, you’ll want to do this work when the weather is still warm.

Clean door and window tracks
Summer equates to open windows and doors, so you need to ensure opening…

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Drip! Drip!

The sound repeated all day.

Drip! Drip!

Each worker was given a sink at his desk.

Drip! Drip!

She sat and listened to the sink all day.

Drip! Drip!

Her neighbor’s sink steadily dripped. She put in headphones, but they did not help. Even over the sound of the music in her ears, she could hear it.

Drip! Drip!

She thought about the tool that could fix the situation. It sat within the same room, just 20 steps away.

Drip! Drip!

She longed all day to find the tool, to fix the dripping sink. But the office had one rule: No one must touch another’s sink.

Drip! Drip!

Drip! Drip!

Drip! Drip!

The sound drove her mad. At many points, she considered finding the tool. And not to touch the sink — no, that was not allowed — but to attack her neighbor.

Drip! Drip! Drip!

She envisioned striking him over the head all day long.

Drip! Drip!

Maybe if he was gone, someone else would come in. Someone who would make the dripping stop.

Drip! Drip!

Why I Became a Jamberry Consultant

I did it. I drank the Kool-aid.

I got sucked right in to becoming a Jamberry consultant.

When mulling over the decision — and trust me, I did a lot of that — I had to eventually decide if it was worth it. I mean, putting aside money for a starter kit? Yuck. And then there was the risk of becoming THAT PERSON. You know, the person who starts selling something and then starts talking about nothing but what they are selling? No one likes that. No matter HOW cool your products are.

But I do LOVE Jamberry. I’ve always hated painting my nails because 1) I’m bad at it — seriously, we’re talking nail polish all over the fingers and 2) it chips in approximately five seconds. With Jamberry, I get a manicure that lasts a week — supposedly they can last up to two, but I always get way too excited about all the new patterns and peel them off early — and in way cooler patterns than I could ever do. I’m not kidding. I can’t even paint on a French manicure without it looking like a 2-year-old did it.

So, I love the product, and as a consultant, I get a discount! Which is pretty dang spiffy if you ask me, because I love saving money.

And that’s pretty much why I did it. The idea of making money off of it? Well, that’s awesome. But I don’t really anticipate making much money off of it. While I love my nails and I would love for more people to know about them, trying to push it down people’s throats just isn’t quite my style.

But what better way to spread the word than free samples?! YAY.

So it’s easy. Pick a number below, then email me with the number, your name and your address using the “Contact Me” page, and I’ll send you your sample. Easy peasy, right?

*USA only, please


Have questions on being a consultant? Go ahead and leave them in the comments below.

And to check out Jamberry’s 300+ designs, click here.

The Fight to Love Yourself

“You can’t stop my happiness because I like the way I am … So if you don’t like the way I look, well I just don’t give a damn.”

I’ve spent a lot of time fighting to be happy with myself.

It’s hard, when you’re overweight, to find that happiness. To come to a point where you accept yourself and love yourself just how you are.

bandaidsIt took me many, many months to get to that point. And it’s a big deal, finally accepting and loving yourself. But you know that is going to be a battle. So you put on your fighting gear and jump into the ring. And, if you’re lucky, you come out victorious.

But no one tells you about the battle that follows.

Sure, strangers are going to give you strange looks, disgusted looks, when they see your overweight body. You’ve also prepared yourself for that battle.

But what about when the person who tells you not to be happy with yourself is a member of your family? Your blood?

When someone in your family thinks you’re not good enough…

What do you do then?

A war between families never ends peacefully. Hard feelings always exist. When you tell someone who takes medication for depression, who is finally happy with herself, basically that she shouldn’t be happy with herself or that she still needs to make changes…

It’s over.


My stress is a corset.

Each task pulls the strings tighter, crushing my lungs. I panic, grappling at the ties, trying desperately to free myself. My vision wanes, the lack of air creating a haze.

I feel hands reach out. Blindly — afraid the hands will pull the strings tighter and bring about the end — I pounce, clawing at the predator. I hear him cry out.

It’s only then I realize what I’ve done. Those hands, mysterious hands, longed to loosen the corset.

And they have.

But the hurt hands back away slowly, turning away from my hands, which can only cause harm.

The corset is gone, but the weight remains. This time, it’s not just crushing my lungs, stopping my breath.

This weight pushes me deeper into the ground, where it will leave me, alone, as it does best. The weight is a tricky beast. Sometimes, I need help to lift it. But it gets into my brain, and it makes me drive away all those who are willing to help.

The weight leaves me, alone.


I feel your gaze upon me, and I know what it means. A combination of pity and disgust, apparent in your eyes as you look down upon me.

“I’m better than you.”

You don’t speak, but I feel the impact of your words, pressing down on me like a boulder, round, hunching my shoulders further forward. My hips dig further into the ground, the sharp, angular bone grinding against my skin.

This is who you are now.

I crumble under your disapproving gaze.


I’m a sabotager.

I don’t know why I do it. But sometimes, when things are going really well, it’s like I wait for the other shoe to drop.


As if, for some reason, I think I don’t deserve to be as happy as I feel…

So I read way too far into the tiniest of things. And I make myself miserable. And I start doubting myself. And I start doubting other people can actually care about me.

Because apparently I don’t think I deserve happiness, and I don’t deserve to be loved.

So instead I apparently get overly sensitive and accusatory and just turn into a really ugly person.

I’m working on it. I’m better than I used to be. But I still have some way to go.