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| "Girl. Your house is a hot mess." |
Normally my morning routine consists of hearing the alarm start ringing, at 6:45, and hitting snooze and my husband until 7:30 where I finally give up and drag my carcass out of bed.
Today, however, I woke up at 6:45 as jazzed up as... well it was easily as jazzy and maniacal as Liza Minnelli on a bender. Today, I had energy to burn and inspiration to light the match!
Don't tell me not to live, just sit and putter. Life's candy and the sun's a ball of butter. Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my paraaaaaaaaaaade.
Our house, by the way, looked like someone let loose four toddlers with cola-filled water balloons. And just as the mess was congealing, and the acid was corroding, the world's biggest dryer exploded raining socks and undies onto the fizzy, sticky mess. I'll let that sink in for a sec. Go ahead, re-read it to get the perfect image. There.
Today, however, I woke up at 6:45 as jazzed up as... well it was easily as jazzy and maniacal as Liza Minnelli on a bender. Today, I had energy to burn and inspiration to light the match!
Don't tell me not to live, just sit and putter. Life's candy and the sun's a ball of butter. Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my paraaaaaaaaaaade.
Our house, by the way, looked like someone let loose four toddlers with cola-filled water balloons. And just as the mess was congealing, and the acid was corroding, the world's biggest dryer exploded raining socks and undies onto the fizzy, sticky mess. I'll let that sink in for a sec. Go ahead, re-read it to get the perfect image. There.
I know I could've added a little hyperbole with the toddlers-- I could've said there were 2 dozen with the water balloons-- but honestly, the widespread and fantastic destruction four toddlers can wreak is more accurate and therefore insane sounding. It's a mommy thing. You (unfortunately) would understand.
At any rate, I was inspired to clean my house.
At any rate, I was inspired to clean my house.
We're going away for a few days for wedding and the only thing worse than cleaning your house before you go on vacation is ... coming home to the DISASTER you left. I end up dreading the entire weekend away, knowing that the closer I get to home, the worse the reality of house will be.
So, I decided I was going to take the day, clean the house (well, tidy it, which is a serious life-consuming task at this point) so that a miracle could happen while we're away; my cleaning fairy was due to arrive next week so that I can come home to an effortlessly spotless and great smelling house! Honestly, if this was a race, I would've just come up with a dark horse win. In Vegas, I'd've hit the jackpot. Or, (also) in Vegas, Ida gotten away with killing two hookers and riding a tiger down mainstreet. Hallelujah!
And when the doorbell rang at 8:11, while I was still naked in my bathroom, I was confused. I figured it was the neighbour kid who borrowed my copy of Mockingjay (Collins) set to return it. Or her mom, who borrowed my copy of 50 Shades of Grey (James) returning it. Either way, I'm still naked in my bathroom listening to the 5 year-old and and almost-two year-old trying to put the dog in the backyard so they can open the door to a potential stranger.
You know, this is when it would be nice if we had one of those slidey-lock things like those ones on apartment doors. It would keep our too-small kids from unlocking the door the normal way and just letting anyone in... Or, say, letting themselves out into the middle of the street while I'm sitting in the bathroom for the 3 minutes peace I get when the theme song to Mickey Mouse Club House comes on and my kids become zombies for 23 minutes.
I'm like frickin' Pavlov's dog-- I'm so conditioned to taking that time that when my daughter put on a Mickey Mouse Club House video randomly on the weekend I suddenly, desperately, needed to pee. Desperately.
But, see, here's the problem with those slidey lock thingys. It all comes down to two words: Jason Voorhees. As much as I really don't want my kids in the middle of the street, or being able to let crazy strangers into the house, the major Trump to that is that what if mother f-ing Jason shows up?
Here I would be, freaking out, screaming, crying with snot and tears streaming down my face. He's just walking though, right? Oh yeah, baby! So as long as I can beat him to the front door, I can escape. I can be the virgin who gets away! I can! I can! OH SHIT. SAY WHAT? I can't get the f-ing door open because there's some stupid child-proof lock at the top that I don't remember putting there, and now I'm flailing and tearing at the door while Jason Voorhees walks slowly toward me. Yeah. So. Yeah.
No extra lock bullshit.
Throwing on my robe and padding down the hallway towards the yelling children and barking dog, I shooed the four-legged outside and let the two-leggeds open the door.
So, I decided I was going to take the day, clean the house (well, tidy it, which is a serious life-consuming task at this point) so that a miracle could happen while we're away; my cleaning fairy was due to arrive next week so that I can come home to an effortlessly spotless and great smelling house! Honestly, if this was a race, I would've just come up with a dark horse win. In Vegas, I'd've hit the jackpot. Or, (also) in Vegas, Ida gotten away with killing two hookers and riding a tiger down mainstreet. Hallelujah!
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| Unfortunately, Kiddo #1 is adept at mazes. |
You know, this is when it would be nice if we had one of those slidey-lock things like those ones on apartment doors. It would keep our too-small kids from unlocking the door the normal way and just letting anyone in... Or, say, letting themselves out into the middle of the street while I'm sitting in the bathroom for the 3 minutes peace I get when the theme song to Mickey Mouse Club House comes on and my kids become zombies for 23 minutes.
I'm like frickin' Pavlov's dog-- I'm so conditioned to taking that time that when my daughter put on a Mickey Mouse Club House video randomly on the weekend I suddenly, desperately, needed to pee. Desperately.
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| Jason of Spades wins everytime. |
But, see, here's the problem with those slidey lock thingys. It all comes down to two words: Jason Voorhees. As much as I really don't want my kids in the middle of the street, or being able to let crazy strangers into the house, the major Trump to that is that what if mother f-ing Jason shows up?
Here I would be, freaking out, screaming, crying with snot and tears streaming down my face. He's just walking though, right? Oh yeah, baby! So as long as I can beat him to the front door, I can escape. I can be the virgin who gets away! I can! I can! OH SHIT. SAY WHAT? I can't get the f-ing door open because there's some stupid child-proof lock at the top that I don't remember putting there, and now I'm flailing and tearing at the door while Jason Voorhees walks slowly toward me. Yeah. So. Yeah.
No extra lock bullshit.
Throwing on my robe and padding down the hallway towards the yelling children and barking dog, I shooed the four-legged outside and let the two-leggeds open the door.
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| Is that the theme song to Mickey Mouse Club House? Gang Way! Gotsta pee! |
Diane!
I've never been simultaneously thrilled and panic-stricken. Diane. The Cleaning Fairy? Here? Now? But my house looks like ... and I'm in my robe ... and ... how did that pair of undies end up on the picture behind the piano?!?
Smiling a lot like the purple cartoon here, I welcome the modern-day Goddess of the Hunt (for dirt and grime) and begin barking as furiously as the dog had been.
Me: Kiddo #1! Run to your room and pick everything off the floor and... put it ... um.. on your bed.
Kiddo #1: Really? (smiling because she can't believe she doesn't have to clean "properly" this time)
Me: Oh yeah, baby. Kiddo #2-- run to your room and put everything off the floor on your bed, too.
Kiddo #2: (squealing and chasing his sister) Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Me: Hi Diane. You are awesome. Pretend this doesn't look like this. Please don't fire me as a client. I swear. ... I got the calendar mixed up and thought you were coming next week. Can I get you a coffee? Chocolate? A new car? Please don't leave.
There was a tiny voice of happiness reminding me that the house hadn't been SO destroyed in just the 7 days from her last visit-- it'd been the full 14. Always look on the bright side, right?
Somehow, between 8:11 and 8:54, I got the rest of the house tidied (by way of tossing shit into Mount St. Elizabeth on my bed), and I managed to get dressed. No make-up or breakfast though-- but hey, something had to give. Plus, my roots were done, which compensated for the lack of make-up.
GAH!
Kiddo #1's lunch?!?
I walk calmly into my bedroom and dig the alarm clock out of the rubble on my bed, I unplug it and take it to the garage, along with my hope for a great and inspiring day.
I put that damned harbinger of treachery under my back tires and throw the car into reverse as Barbra Streisand finishes that song from "Funny Girl."
Get ready for me love, cuz I'm a comer.
I simply gotta march, my heart's a drummer.
Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my paraaaaaaaade.
Kiddo #1: Really? (smiling because she can't believe she doesn't have to clean "properly" this time)
Me: Oh yeah, baby. Kiddo #2-- run to your room and put everything off the floor on your bed, too.
Kiddo #2: (squealing and chasing his sister) Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Me: Hi Diane. You are awesome. Pretend this doesn't look like this. Please don't fire me as a client. I swear. ... I got the calendar mixed up and thought you were coming next week. Can I get you a coffee? Chocolate? A new car? Please don't leave.
There was a tiny voice of happiness reminding me that the house hadn't been SO destroyed in just the 7 days from her last visit-- it'd been the full 14. Always look on the bright side, right?
Somehow, between 8:11 and 8:54, I got the rest of the house tidied (by way of tossing shit into Mount St. Elizabeth on my bed), and I managed to get dressed. No make-up or breakfast though-- but hey, something had to give. Plus, my roots were done, which compensated for the lack of make-up.
GAH!
Kiddo #1's lunch?!?
I walk calmly into my bedroom and dig the alarm clock out of the rubble on my bed, I unplug it and take it to the garage, along with my hope for a great and inspiring day.
I put that damned harbinger of treachery under my back tires and throw the car into reverse as Barbra Streisand finishes that song from "Funny Girl."
Get ready for me love, cuz I'm a comer.
I simply gotta march, my heart's a drummer.
Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my paraaaaaaaade.
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