Today is one of those days where I just want to leave my house for a solid three hours. I don't have the faintest idea what I would do with my mythical free time, but I need out. Pronto.
My four-year-old son is to blame.
No matter how hard I clean. Regardless of the fact that I JUST PUT HIS CRAP AWAY, he is constantly making a new mess in another area of the house. If I wash the floors, he spills apple juice. If I vacuum, he steps on a cracker. If I get the baby down for a nap, he wakes him up. And yes, okay, that's not making a mess, but it ain't helping.
So yesterday was a disaster, which resulted in me losing my mind and completely giving up. I instructed my kids to clean up every mess, one room at a time.
"But whyyy are you making us clean so much???" Said in an insanely whiny voice.
"Because, you made the mess. I'm done cleaning."
"But it's soooo unfair."
So that was about four hours of my yesterday, dodging their whining as they cleaned up their own mess.
Today would be different, I told myself. So I vacuumed up all the chip crumbs. Used my wetjet (I love that thing) on my floors and plopped myself down on my computer to check my mail. I ignored the sounds coming from my kitchen. I shouldn't have.
Because what was my dear son doing? Making a surprise concoction out of crap from the fridge. Applesauce was all over my clean floor. Yogurt on my counters. Cheese everywhere else. Now I remember doing this when I was probably in Junior High. I'd make some gross drink out of condiments from the fridge and force my friend to take a sip. I did that in Jr High....with A FRIEND. He's four and making it purely for himself. Who is this kid?
"What the heck?" I asked, my eyes rolling into my head.
"I'm making a special drink? Want a sip?"
I give up. Palms to the air, I leave the kitchen.
Is it bedtime yet?
