Simple, Down-to-Earth, Everyday Aromatherapy Diffusers Got a Kleenex, a hankie, and a scrap of old diaper? Voila.
You have three effective aromatherapy diffusers.
Use the Kleenex in the car, the hankie in your purse and beach bag, and the old diaper in the dryer, spreading sweet citrusy bliss wherever you go.
Nowhere in the amateur aroma-therapist's handbook will you encounter a mandate or threat; nowhere does it say, "Spend a fortune on aromatherapy diffusers, or else...
" Of course, if you have time, a trust fund, and exquisite taste, we wholeheartedly encourage you to shop Crate and Barrel and Pottery Barn for some of the most adorable aromatherapy diffusers available anywhere on the planet.
For the rest of us, however, who just emptied the youngest child's piggy bank to fill the gas tank for the afternoon carpool, nature and our own resourcefulness must satisfy our serious and compelling need for aromatherapy diffusers.
Trust me, we need help all around the old homestead.
This morning, just an average business-as-usual kind of morning, the puppy peed at the exact geographic center of the heirloom Oriental rug in the dining room.
Following the puppy's sterling example, my precious toddler aimed for the very same spot.
After aggressive intervention with my home-brewed cleaners, guaranteed to kill all pestilence and plague no matter how insidious, I closed the deal with a happy-scented aromatherapy candle.
Mission accomplished.
Still, no rest for the weary.
My beloved and absolutely lovable teen-aged sons-please, girls, marry them and take them off my hands!-save the world from all manner of virtual invaders, snacking and beveraging in their bedrooms all day and night, conveniently forgetting that, maybe, those dishes, glasses, and utensils occasionally need cleaning.
Summoning all my courage, emboldened by my battle against dining room diuretics, I ventured into the boys' rooms.
OMG, the entire Oxford English Dictionary has neither adjectives nor adverbs for describing most of what I "unearthed.
" Using heavy equipment to cart away tiny mountains of plates, glassware, and debris, and summoning reinforcements for dragging out dirty laundry, I brought order where once chaos had reigned.
And they think they save the planet from scurrilous invaders! Then, because serious situations call for serious measures, I used the little plug-in aromatherapy diffusers that gradually disperse masculine scents using the heat from the little light in the fixture.
I promise you, my noble sons and heirs will not notice them until they get called-up to the major leagues; but I will know.
Finally, putting the big finish on my household search and destroy mission, I ventured fearlessly into my husband's bathroom.
Honoring my great-grandmother's wisdom, because she pretty much composed the scripture that informs all things wisely domestic, my husband and I agreed to keep two things always and forever separate-our money, and our bathrooms.
For both, we have "yours," "mine," and "ours"-except only visiting royalty can use the facilities we politely call "ours.
" I fervently hope I will domesticate my man before we finish this long-running marital comedy.
Meanwhile, I will go on cleaning his bathroom, sparing you the details, and refilling the little candle-powered essential oil diffusers adorning his toilet tank, counter top, and top shelf.
When I finally carve-out the "me-time" from my busy day-just like yours, I am sure-I attend to my own "vital" aromatherapy diffusers.
These precious little secrets preserve my femininity in the face of all things feral and masculine.
After a spectacular shower with my own specially formulated essential oil soap, shampoo, and conditioner, I religiously moisturize with luxurious lotion laced with those same essential oils-bergamot and ruby grapefruit rock.
Then, guaranteeing myself a great tomorrow, I vigorously brush my favorite fragrances into my hair, so that every time I move I will catch just the faintest whiff of the fragrances that remind me, yes, I am a girl.
Among all the great aromatherapy diffusers, I still like my hair and wrists the very best.
You have three effective aromatherapy diffusers.
Use the Kleenex in the car, the hankie in your purse and beach bag, and the old diaper in the dryer, spreading sweet citrusy bliss wherever you go.
Nowhere in the amateur aroma-therapist's handbook will you encounter a mandate or threat; nowhere does it say, "Spend a fortune on aromatherapy diffusers, or else...
" Of course, if you have time, a trust fund, and exquisite taste, we wholeheartedly encourage you to shop Crate and Barrel and Pottery Barn for some of the most adorable aromatherapy diffusers available anywhere on the planet.
For the rest of us, however, who just emptied the youngest child's piggy bank to fill the gas tank for the afternoon carpool, nature and our own resourcefulness must satisfy our serious and compelling need for aromatherapy diffusers.
Trust me, we need help all around the old homestead.
This morning, just an average business-as-usual kind of morning, the puppy peed at the exact geographic center of the heirloom Oriental rug in the dining room.
Following the puppy's sterling example, my precious toddler aimed for the very same spot.
After aggressive intervention with my home-brewed cleaners, guaranteed to kill all pestilence and plague no matter how insidious, I closed the deal with a happy-scented aromatherapy candle.
Mission accomplished.
Still, no rest for the weary.
My beloved and absolutely lovable teen-aged sons-please, girls, marry them and take them off my hands!-save the world from all manner of virtual invaders, snacking and beveraging in their bedrooms all day and night, conveniently forgetting that, maybe, those dishes, glasses, and utensils occasionally need cleaning.
Summoning all my courage, emboldened by my battle against dining room diuretics, I ventured into the boys' rooms.
OMG, the entire Oxford English Dictionary has neither adjectives nor adverbs for describing most of what I "unearthed.
" Using heavy equipment to cart away tiny mountains of plates, glassware, and debris, and summoning reinforcements for dragging out dirty laundry, I brought order where once chaos had reigned.
And they think they save the planet from scurrilous invaders! Then, because serious situations call for serious measures, I used the little plug-in aromatherapy diffusers that gradually disperse masculine scents using the heat from the little light in the fixture.
I promise you, my noble sons and heirs will not notice them until they get called-up to the major leagues; but I will know.
Finally, putting the big finish on my household search and destroy mission, I ventured fearlessly into my husband's bathroom.
Honoring my great-grandmother's wisdom, because she pretty much composed the scripture that informs all things wisely domestic, my husband and I agreed to keep two things always and forever separate-our money, and our bathrooms.
For both, we have "yours," "mine," and "ours"-except only visiting royalty can use the facilities we politely call "ours.
" I fervently hope I will domesticate my man before we finish this long-running marital comedy.
Meanwhile, I will go on cleaning his bathroom, sparing you the details, and refilling the little candle-powered essential oil diffusers adorning his toilet tank, counter top, and top shelf.
When I finally carve-out the "me-time" from my busy day-just like yours, I am sure-I attend to my own "vital" aromatherapy diffusers.
These precious little secrets preserve my femininity in the face of all things feral and masculine.
After a spectacular shower with my own specially formulated essential oil soap, shampoo, and conditioner, I religiously moisturize with luxurious lotion laced with those same essential oils-bergamot and ruby grapefruit rock.
Then, guaranteeing myself a great tomorrow, I vigorously brush my favorite fragrances into my hair, so that every time I move I will catch just the faintest whiff of the fragrances that remind me, yes, I am a girl.
Among all the great aromatherapy diffusers, I still like my hair and wrists the very best.
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