Monday, 4 March 2013

Whale Song

Women in my family are known for a lot of things: strong will, grudge-holding ability, obsessiveness, matriarchal leadership and our over-active mama bear gene. We are not known for our house-keeping skills. No one is ever going to say, "Man did she keep that place spotless." after any of us are dead and gone.

My grandmother, the twin, was notorious for wanting things a specific way. She hired help to clean the house because she didn't have the time to tend to the house herself and then insisted that my father and aunt clean their house before the housekeeper arrived because she didn't want the housekeeper to think that they lived like savage beasts - negating the actual need for a housekeeper.  Or how she bought pies at the bakery, presented them as her own handmade treats and become irrationally livid should anyone imply otherwise.

I, like many before me, am not a born housekeeper - however at this point in time the idea of indulging in a maid service is unaffordable and pointless because of the constant spill cycle in our house.  Add in that I am a giant klutz. I spill, I slop, I fall down - a lot more than I would ever like to admit and unfortunately I think that Jack has inherited this quality as well.*  As a parent of two toddlers I also know that you have to stay fairly tidy because they get into EVERYTHING. 

Even I, a self-declared non-neat-freak, am being driven to the brink of madness because of toddlerodiousrepugnantitus** a disease caused because my children are crazy forces who have their own complicated logic.

Loud equals awesome is responsible for the fact that we only have 3 bread plates left. 

Both minions must be convinced that they are the hen who laid the golden egg. Every time they produce a nugget they need to get their hands on it IMMEDIATELY. The amount of defence required to change a number two diaper is NHL power play worthy.

Throwing food, specifically brightly coloured yams or yogurt is fun.  Almost as much fun as using your sippy cup to paint the floor with milk.

Photo from Creative Commons, Courtesy of: RonWLS

Which brings me to my white whale.***  Our floors.  I never paid much attention to our floors pre-babygeddon, or even pre-crawling, but now....I am that idiot mom in the Swiffer Wet Jet commercial.****  I would say that on average Chris and I sweep the floor 2-6 times a day, we spot mop constantly and real mop frequently, but it's never enough.  Our floor has never been clean enough to eat off of, yet now it's the world's dirtiest buffet table.  I have scrubbed the paint off of our wall, yet the stains remain.

Two days ago I went to the dollar store with yogurt stains all over my pants, but that's okay...I now have built in camouflage.  I can just lay down on our kitchen floor and blend in.        

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*A couple of weeks ago I had to fill out an accident report for Jack at daycare because he ran into a door and bruised his forehead.   Last week he was playing with the front gate while I carried him into daycare and he slammed it into his head giving him a giant gash while I dropped him off.  I didn't notice, asked him why he was being so difficult and was generally unsympathetic until someone else pointed out that he was bleeding.
**Patent Pending.
***Definition: An obsession or nemesis that becomes your entire life - ultimately destroying you.
****Note to Swiffer Mom, if you complete the Am I A Cool Mom Quiz you are automatically not a cool mom.

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