In our house, there is a razor thin line between “Aren’t we just so blessed…I love our sweet, cozy house” and “holy shit, did we get robbed? Someone ransacked the house…seriously…call someone.”
It’s true. At any given point, we are a breath away from W.T.F. Sorry for the language, but if you saw the state of our house right now…trust me, you would say it too.
I’m calling this the point of no return. The point where if we don’t do something, it’s going down for real in this house and we might as well just go grab a shovel and some contractor, heavy weight garbage bags and just purge until all we are left with is plaster walls and stained carpet.
It’s the proverbial tipping point. Where one more Polly Pocket will absolutely be the straw that broke the this mother’s back.
This morning I found a half a piece of pizza behind the filing cabinet. I shit you not. I petrified piece of hand-tossed, pork sausage pizza. I picture one of these wild children literally taking a bite, looking at the pizza, shrugging their shoulders and saying “meh…” then CHOOSING to chuck it behind the wooden filing cabinet.
And about 10 minutes later? The babies used their little snack size bags of goldfish as kneading bags turning their goldfish into confetti and then promptly treating it as such all over the kitchen. On my way downstairs to get the vacuum, I literally stepped in the cat’s puke. Now, cats are smart right?? I don’t think for one second that cat couldn’t make it somewhere else to barf up her hair ball. She ralphed right there on the third step down to the basement to literally try to make me lose my mind.
There’s the faint aroma of a poopy diaper in the air this morning and I have searched everywhere for the source to no avail. I’ve concluded that 1)there literally IS a diaper full of poop sitting somewhere like a festering bomb or 2)my house just smells like poop–like it’s just the way it is now or 3)I have changed so many diapers in my life that my little nose hairs are literally scented like crap.
I really don’t know which answer is the right one. I swear to you.
I am in absolute awe of those of you that have clean houses–those of you who tell your children to get dressed and those children walk to their closets and find their unwrinkled clothes, socks and undies from right where they are supposed to be…in drawers and on hangers. You all are literally my heroes. I’m not being sarcastic. I want to be you. You’re like angel fairies, flitting about in my mind making your house look fantastic and folding perfect laundry all the while being sweet and kind and just all around freaking amazing.
I want to go to you–look you right in the eyes while holding both of your hands and say “Teach Me–I’m finally ready”.
For those of you like me, like us, who have houses that reach the danger zone, the point of no return…I hope I show up at your house at one of moments.
You’ll say to me “please pretend you don’t see the mess”. And I’ll think: awww heck no, I’m going to burn it into my brain…every ground in cracker on your carpet, every plate encrusted with lasagna in your sink, every sippy cup that has literally started to have it’s contents separate into two distinct layers curds and whey and say:
“Oh thank the Good Lord in heaven, we aren’t the only ones”.
In the meantime, send help. You’ll find me on the playroom floor, doing snow angels in the little people.
