Much to my husband's chagrin, I am a messy girl. A little clutter, a few toys on the floor, a few dishes in the sink are no sweat off my back. To a point. All of a sudden the messiness will turn into dirtiness, and while I am a dirty girl in some respects (that's what she said) that tipping point into the gross will cause me to lose my mind.
Yesterday morning was that point. I woke up and just looking around my house elevated my anxiety level through the roof. Everything. Must. Become. Clean. Now. So I've spent the last two days on a cleaning spree, and I can thankfully say that my house is sparkling and free of all messes. I had a lot of time to think while tidying up after these three housemates of mine (I guess it would be five if you count the cats) and two questions stood out in my mind. Why? and How? For example:
Why....
would you spill some milk on the counter, and instead of wiping it up with a dish towel or asking me to clean it up, instead decide to use a dum-dum sucker to draw sticky disgusting designs in the milk and allow it to dry?
would you, five minutes after I reminded you to put your dirty clothes in the hamper when you take them off, decide to change and leave the dirty clothes on the floor of your room that I just cleaned?
does it seem like the more loads of laundry I complete, the more that pile up?
would you tape toilet paper to your bedroom wall?
would you hide a opened container of mango yogurt under your bed when you don't even like mango yogurt? (Special thanks for doing that when it's 80 degrees outside.)
is it so damn difficult to go poop without getting said poop on the toilet seat or in your princess panties?
And how....
do you get splatters of toothpaste eight feet high on the mirror, when you are only three feet tall?
do my cats have any fur left on their bodies after all the hair I vacuumed off the carpet today?
do two little girls manage to dirty eight or ten cups a day?
do I convince my children that the direction of "take this toy up to your playroom" means to do exactly that, and not leave said toy on the stairway that leads up to their playroom?
do I convince Mr. Floren that we need a housekeeper?
Oh wait. He says I am the housekeeper. Shit.
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