When I think about the instructions on every shampoo bottle ever sold I’m struck by exactly how many ways this manifests itself in my life.
It’s dirty, I clean it up, it gets dirty again. This little gem applies to e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. The kitchen, the bathrooms, those dog nose prints on the front door glass…You’ll notice I didn’t mention dusting here, right? I’ve never really believed in dusting. That’s why my kids are now responsible for dusting the main (read: seen by the public) rooms twice a week. That’s really the best I can do on that one.
I vacuum, the dogs shed approximately 25 pounds of hair, I vacuum again. I know, this is cleaning, but it definitely deserves its own category. Seriously, I have no idea where this hair is coming from. Our dogs should be NAKED given the amount of hair swirling around on our floors. Occasionally, when the air flow is just right from opened doors or vents, fluff balls cyclone by and I can almost hear western movie music. (Our floors are wood, too, which makes it especially easy to see what stage we’re in: 1. gee, it’s time to vacuum, 2. I really should have vacuumed a few days ago, or 3. you find the vacuum under all this fluff, and I’ll beat back the tumbleweeds if they try to take you down.)
Clutter, I de-clutter, CLUTTER, I de-clutter, There Is Clutter Everywhere! This one drives BrightSide up the wall sideways and back down again. I’ll freely admit that this has always been a bit of an issue (ahem) for me; I’m an “organize through stacks and piles” kind of girl. BS is most definitely “a place for everything and everything in its place, preferably out of sight” kind of guy. (Side note: This is one of those delightful differences you laugh about when you marry an opposite. Well, maybe not so much with the delightful. More like I really, really try to do better about not cluttering and he really, really tries not to let his head explode at the sight of our kitchen counter or coffee table. I’d say we’re both doing our best to hold up our end of the deal. But I’m also not going to post a picture of those areas, either. So I guess he’s doing better with the non-head exploding part than I am about not cluttering…)
I wash/dry/fold a million clothes, they get dirty again, my mountain of laundry returns. Monday is Laundry Day. This is somewhat of a misnomer as it gives the impression that laundry is started and finished on Monday. In reality, I keep trying new systems but have yet to find a successful one. Currently, I start the gazillion (yeah, I’m making that number up) loads of laundry on Monday morning and by the end of the day have probably washed and folded four or five loads of clothes. I almost always have loads that carry over into Tuesday, and because socks/underwear are the bane of my existence (Why must you mock me, unmatched socks? Why is kids’ underwear so hard to fold? And why do those kids’ feet keep growing so it’s getting harder to tell who owns these stupid socks?!) these have been thrown into a separate basket as I go to be folded and sorted at the end. This usually means by Wednesday (if I’ve been good) everything’s finally finished and put in the rooms. Probably more like Thursday, though. I’m easily sidetracked from laundry. (BS likes to note that if I did laundry every night, like his mom did during his childhood, I wouldn’t have this insane amount of clothes weekly. Logically I know this is true, but I can’t seem to resign myself to nightly laundry. It’s just too depressing.)
Bath towels (see above). Yeah, washing the bath towels doesn’t seem to work out any better than the clothes.
Grocery store shopping, the people eat and use the stuff, return to store to resupply. I mean, for real…if these kids eat like this now, what on earth will I do when they’re teenagers? Wait, I know what I’ll have to do. I’ll have to go to the store twice a week just to keep food in the house. (wail of despair)
So…lather, rinse, repeat. These are the days of my life.