Day one of my new glamorous career of home maker.
Home and ready to tackle my list of projects. The boy is off to school, beds are made and I slowly realise my arms are full of items I've gathered as I walked from room to room. Arms full of random crap belonging to my second child and I'm suddenly very aware that there isn't a single room in this entire house that has been left untouched by hurricane girlchild
and then I walk into my daughter's bedroom.
What The Fu-!
It looks like an episode of Hoarders.
How does this happen? She's only one little person. She was left playing in her room for 10 minutes while I made beds and grabbed a cup of joe and her room looks like it puked My Little Ponies and dirty socks.
We do maintenance in the evenings like most parents do because if we didn't we'd be wallowing in filth by Wednesday. A quick tidy, laundry in the hamper, toys in the basket, yadda yadda.
Yet, left to her own devices she trashes the place.
"Hey Courtney Love"
"how come your room is such a mess?"
"because I like it this way."
"doesn't it hurt when you step on something?"
"nah- I tip toe."
seems like a reasonable approach to navigate a mine field.
"don't you like it when your room is all tidy, and your bed is made and everything looks pretty?"
"yes. I like it when it's snuggly."
"so can we work together and tidy your room?"
'nah- that's your job."
"didn't you help clean up at daycare?"
"so why is it different at home?"
"because you always do it. Because it's faster."
out of the mouths of babes.
She's right. My husband and I always do it because it's faster, because it was easier just to quickly scour the house and gather up the crap and put it away-because we didn't have time.
ah. that word again- time.
Well guess what?- now we have some time. There's a new sheriff in town and she's going to dedicate some time to getting little Ms. Love to help out a little more around the house.
So together we picked up- gathered laundry and made her bed. I did step on Princess Mi Amore Credenza's fucking pony crown and let out a loud "SHIT" - which prompted Ms. Love to repeat 'shit' as she tripped over the laundry hamper she dumped out and was using as a boat earlier.
we'll find the time to address that soon enough. baby steps.