Zen and the Art of Home Maintenance
Gotta say, I'm with AJ on this one.AJ: [Glancing over at Lila who's using a baby wipe to clean the top of the subwoofer. She's on her 78th perfect, tiny little swirl.] Top cleaning, Yaya!
Lila: [Pure consternation, not looking up.] YOU top it, Ah-Jah. Cleaning for mama.
Jen: Ohhh, thank you, honey!
AJ: TOP it, mama! Tell Yaya no. NO CLEANING! NO CLEANING!! NOT FUN NOT FUN NOT FUN NOT FUN!!
Cleaning is not only not fun, but I find it such a waste of time when I know all of the effort will be entirely moot in less than a day. I cleaned the hell out of this crazy abode not even 20 hours ago. I'm looking around now aaaaaand, nope. Not clean. It's a hot mess again. Dammit to hell. I suppose I could stay on top of things just as soon as they occur (catching the mac salad as it's being tossed across the kitchen; collecting the fur as Stella prances about trying to catch said mac salad; putting my work mess into a neat little pile in my office upstairs at midnight instead of choosing to head directly to bed), but then I would entirely be someone that I'm not. Like a clean-freak body snatcher. Someone with cleanliness being top-of-mind and face mask & 409 being top-of-shelf. Not happening here.
In my mind, busy parents who keep their homes in perfect order 24/7 are something akin to politicians: I totally get that it's great when that job is done by someone, yet I find that I have zero in common with the type of person actually wanting and enjoying that position. *sigh* I guess that's neither here nor there. What is here and there is fur. And Cheerios, stickers, work papers, magazines, toys that spout off-key Bach tunes when tripped upon, little pink plastic pets, an entire Hot Wheels caravan... If our house was the setting for "Toy Story 4", long-haired sparkly little ponies would be driving to their marketing jobs in sweet rides with Diego bumper stickers, listening to classical music and reading Glamour magazine - all at 3am. Now that sounds fun. And that is a Pixar fantasy world. Real world, it's just messy.
I cleaned my car out the other day. One of those "Shit, I know I've gotta do it but it's so damn unpleasant and tiring - Let me wait until it smells just a little more like a science experiment" chores. ...*Crickets*... Am I alone on this one? Should I also be embarassed to admit that I cleaned out what could be the equivalent of four or five entire meals? (I have often thought that, were my poor Volvo to careen into a ravine where I somehow wasn't found for a week, I would fare quite nicely in terms of nutrition and sticker books to keep my mind alert during the ordeal, thank you very much.) Well, I won't go further into the mess factor of my ride. Let's just leave it at: If "Hoarders" had a special on automobiles, there would, without a doubt, be an intervention taping for the show in our driveway.
My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint. ~ Erma Bombeck
Good thing I wrote this post instead of doing those dishes, right? Happy Thursday!
Don't cook. Don't clean. No man will ever make love to a woman because she waxed the linoleum - "My God, the floor's immaculate. Lie down, you hot bitch." ~ Joan Rivers