Zen and the Art of Home Maintenance

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!!

Gotta say, I'm with AJ on this one.

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

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

Good thing I wrote this post instead of doing those dishes, right? Happy Thursday!