I’m sure this could be avoided by not allowing the baggie of Cheerios to leave the kitchen in the first place but that is just totally unrealistic for my current living situation. My wild ones demand freedom to roam and explore and learn. With their Cheerios. And half drunk sippy cups of milk. The ‘big kid’ named Daddy could compete for “Messiest Man in America” and win. Hands down. So I find myself constantly, broom in hand, picking up after them.
I’m not sure why I even bother cleaning the kitchen floor. I’ve resorted to mopping the floor after they go to bed so that I can ensure 12 hours of cleanliness. And I can go to bed knowing that my efforts weren’t thwarted an hour later by toast crumbs, spilled yogurt, or toddler tantrums at dinner time.
Some days I come home from work and the first thought in my mind is: why do I even bother? Crap is everywhere – even the groceries that didn’t quite make it to the pantry. And don’t get me started on Mount Laundry. There is more laundry produced in this household on a weekly basis than oil mined in Texas.
A few days ago, no joke, the trail of Cheerios led me to a pile of laundry. And no one could tell me if it was really dirty or if it were semi-clean.
I’m pretty sure that there are Cheerio crumbs permanently ground into the fibers of my carpet.
Toys are strewn all over our house. And it makes no sense. Not only do the children have bedrooms of their own but they have a huge playroom. And still, toys seem to sneak into the common and not so common spaces. There’s the Little People Zoo in my bathroom. And the Ninja Turtle scooter in the kitchen. The Barbie collection in the floor of my bedroom. A library in the guest bathroom. Art supplies in Daddy’s office.
The trail even extends outside into the car. The papers, jackets, bags, toys left in the car on a weekly basis is enough to fill up one of those rubbermaid tubs. That is not hyperbole. It’s fact. We did it just last weekend.