There are some mothers I know who love to clean. They love the smell of cleaning products and, like the commercials for said products, actually dance around the house while dusting. They maintain a pristine house with floors you could safely lick. Toys are put away immediately after they're played with and sanitized frequently. The laundry, pre-sorted by color, is rarely backed up. Many of these mothers also garden in their spare time and could win awards for their beautiful roses. Photographs of family bliss are routinely scrapbooked and even the birds in their backyards are fed and cared for. In fact, when they head outside to their backyards, forest animals flock to them to hear them sing for hours, in perfect falsetto.
These mothers (who really don't exist...this list is a June Cleaver meets Snow White model) also DO NOTHING ELSE. How could they?
I, however, do lots of other things. So many things, that I am at least 6 months behind on household projects. As a card carrying member of the Real World, I am not what one would call "caught up."
Lately, I have been doing laundry only when we're all out of underwear.
Truth is, I am not genetically wired to love the mechanics of managing a household. In order to be motivated to clean and organize extensively, I have to feel a little pissed off. The mess and disorganization have to get under my skin enough for me to have finally HAD ENOUGH. Then, I rise up like She-Ra, Princess of Power (younger readers - this was an 80's cartoon of a girl who kicked some serious evil butt) in an imagined battle for justice and redemption, to face the devastation. A few times a year I break down and combat the forces of evil in a week long effort to beat back the chaos.
I don't know why, but this is my week.
I have spent the past two days cleaning out the crap lurking within the deep bowels of my garage and my kids' rooms. Let me just say that I hate small toys. I hate toys with small plastic parts. I hate any toy that comes from a fast food restaurant. Also, I'm not a fan of petrified oranges. Or petrified peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
I know, I know. Disgusting. Let's just say I should check the bottom of the toy box and underneath the beds more often.
But, I will rest tonight with great satisfaction and peace. I've pressed the reset button in my house and we're starting from scratch. Well, almost. Tomorrow I tackle the game closet, the front hall closet, the pantry, and the storage shed.
Wish me luck.