I have a confession. I absolutely hate cleaning, absolutely hate it. Now I've heard that there are some women out there that love to clean their house, to see it sparkle and shine, take pride in their work. I could possibly feel this way also, if I ever got a chance to see it sparkle. I once had the potential to be a Martha Stewart of sorts, or maybe it was all in my mind. Not that I actually ever really wanted to be like her, she is just the most neurotic overly zealous person I could think of.
As an explanation of my above confession I give you a glimpse of my frustration and resulting resentment for anything related to household chores.
Just this morning during my regular cleaning up routine, which I do a couple times a day I might add, I started with the living room, picked up, put the pillows back up on the couch (lost count on how many times I've picked them up this morning alone). Tossed stuff in the boys room, walked back out into the living room, picked up the pillows, again. Straightened up the dinning room, emptied the dish washer, loaded it, ran it so I could empty it again, cleaned up the kitchen, then wandered into the playroom, were the toys covered the ground like snow. I started systematically tossing the toys into the appropriate containers. As I rounded the corner of the couch, I spied my youngest flinging the cardboard blocks off the shelf that I just spent time stacking in perfect order. As I scolded him and picked them up yet again I glance over my shoulder and there is my middle tornado launching all the stuffed animals out of their container, I repeatedly ask him to return the animals to the box, but seeing as this tactic is going to take an hour or so, one animal every ten minutes, I give up and stuff them back myself. Sweating by this point I scramble to grab the vacuum cleaner before any thing else hits the floor. Starting with the living room (not sure why I always start with the living room) I yet again picked up the pillows, turned on the vacuum and boom, babies materialize out of no where to stand right in front of the vacuum, giggling and rolling around on the ground, grabbing the cord, and making general nuisances of themselves. A regular occurrence and so obnoxious. Skirting around them, darting and dashing to try to get the scraps up off the floor. Into the dinning room, then the kitchen, then into the playroom, where the block are on the ground again! Those little heathens. Picked up the blocks, which the babies "helped" me to do this time, then finished vacuuming. Ahhhh, now is the moment of zen right? The sparkle and shine, the moment I have been working so hard for. Wrong, pillows on the ground again, little bits of what every on the dinning room floor, dishes in the sink, and I swear it started snowing toys already, just to name a few things, ugggggg! And I haven't even cleaned the bathrooms yet.
Some times I want to be childish and just throw my hands into the air and scream, "I give up" and then go do some thing I actually want to do. But I know if I did that my house would look like a fish bowl with a malfunctioning filter, instead of clean clutter. Oh well, I may only be a Martha Stewart in my mind, but what a beautiful mind it is. why it almost sparkles and shines.
On the road again
9 hours ago