A friend came over the other night for a glass (bottle) of wine and remarked at “how clean” my house looked. “Compared to usual,” were her exact words. There was shit everywhere. I thanked her. She must have been drunk because, these days, we’re nearing a Defcon 1 level shit show.
I should have known better than to be so boastful. Did I actually use the words “easy” and “three children” in the same post only weeks ago? Those words should really never be spoken together, if at all. Granted, I’m still one or two kids short of a freak show but the Musial Family Circus is only getting louder and messier.
We have third row-seating in our SUV and I need to get the 4.5 year old a walkie talkie so I can hear what he’s saying or crying about over the cries of his siblings. Why does everyone ALWAYS need something? Always at the same time? WHILE I AM DRIVING!? Is it legal to use noise-cancelling headphones in the car?
Then there’s the mess. Sure there’s some dirty and stickiness and always several pounds of sand in weird places. But I’m actually more irritated by the random items scattered throughout my house that don’t belong there. Kitchen items in the bedroom, bathroom items on the kitchen counter, etc..
I’ve been trying so hard to declutter but somehow the crap continues to multiply. Forget about keeping things organized, these little gremlins have made it their life’s work to rearrange my entire house so I can no longer find a single thing.
Husband: Have you seen the floss?
Me: Check by the toaster oven.
Husband: Do we have any Neosporin?
Me: Second drawer with the forks and knives.
The immediate area surrounding my stove top/cooking area contains no less than five random items from every single room of my house. Dental floss, a bandaid, a flash light, 1/2 a Lego Minifigure (“honey, where ARE my pants?”) and a 1/2 eaten dried piece of fruit (which was either dry to begin with or has been there so long that it is now dry).
Every few minutes, a child runs or cries by me with a demand or waving something they shouldn’t be waving. A broken tent pole, baby teething toy chewed on by a non-baby, headphones, broken plastic easter eggs, more bandaids, a straw. I keep trying to throw this crap away and yet I still feel like I’m climbing the walls of a dumpster. They are trying to kill me one tiny toy at a time.
The circus is in full swing but I’m not quite sure who the ring master is here. I keep telling them that it’s “my house and my rules.” Yet, in the distance, I swear that I can hear clown music playing and I feel the strong urge to honk my nose and put on a show. I guess I’ll just grab some popcorn and enjoy the next act.