Why is my house a mess? There is shit everywhere! The kids have their own dedicated toy room, hell, they have a toy upstairs. Two rooms and a bathroom (yes, Bubby plays with water in the bathroom. Makes up water sets using tupperware and Playmobil, I guess better in the bathroom than on my zillion dollar wood floors.) One room is toys the other is a play house and a kitchen set. So why, since they have several hundred square feet, do their toys end up all over the house. There are toys in their room, toys in my bathroom, toys in the family room in the TV stand, toys in the hearth room (yeah, yeah, I have a big house - you'll never (fingers crossed) hear me rant (well maybe if the furnace breaks or maybe about how much it will be to replace the huge driveway) about my dream house. I love it. My heart swells when I pull into the driveway. And yes, I am shallow), toys in the art room, toys in my office and toys in the mudroom. You would be right thinking they have a lot of toys. But they are not the normal kind of toys. Bubby likes squishy little lizards and aquatic life from the dollar bin at Target. Chicken likes the Disney Polly Pocket-like princesses (cannot tell you how many I have replaced because Lunatic the crazy dog eats them like Easter jelly beans). So there is little stuff everywhere. Open a drawer and there is a Playmobil gorilla. Or Strawberry Shortcake. Or a tea set. Or the tea set in the turtle tent in my family room.
Who picks it up? Well mostly my The Saint aka my husband. I pick up the toy room every other week with the kids so The Miracle Worker aka the housekeeper can clean upstairs (which she only does every other weeks since nobody comes up here but the kids. They mind of trash the bathroom up here, so The MW takes care of that too.) I ask Bubby and Chicken to do it. They do it a bit, whine how is is hard, then when I am not looking or lording over them, they slip away and make a mess in a room far far away.
And really, the only decent organized example they have is The Saint. Me? I still have Easter stuff on the dining room table (I did get rid of the hard boiled eggs BEFORE they started to smell - yes, smart asses, I AM patting myself in the back.) My office is a dizzying array of fabric, craft supplies, stuff for my taxes and bills. Really, how would I ever be able to get entrepreneurial and make some extra dough to pay for my vacation habit (or my shoe habit or my expensive chocolate habit, or my jeans habit, or my pilates habit or my kids clothes and shoes habit. Who doesn't have clothes in this house? The Saint.)
I am not making the case for a frustrated mother overrun by her uncaring children, am I? Oh, you say they are only 5 and 2 so they can't possibly be messy just to make me even crazier than I already am? The hell you say. Chicken calls me pooh pooh head just because she know I can't stand it. And she is 2. You should see how she eggs Bubby on and on.
So, here I sit, typing a post that nobody will read, instead of putting away the laundry (3 weeks worth) or emptying the dish washer, or helping the kids clean up their shit, or, OH CRAP, I do need to send the taxes....
