Stop Stressing Me Out, Dustballs

Saoirse’s hair hasn’t been brushed all day.  The girls have spent way too much time today watching TV (Toy Story 2, again).  I threw cheese sticks and hastily filled cups of water at them this morning when I realized it was so far past their usual snack time I should very well roll it into lunch.  Quinn was walking around with shoes on each hand and a clean rain coat draped over her head by the hood for the better part of an hour.

Saoirse told me that she doesn’t want to live in a clean house.  She wants to live in a dirty house, because she doesn’t like clean.  This explains the state of her bedroom every day after naptime.

The day is very, very short when you have small children.   All of your hours are compartmentalized into these weird little chunks:  the hours between breakfast and snacktime..the chunk between that and lunch.  Then, the blessed silence (or at least the muted playing) of kids’ naptime.  The awkward bit between naptime and getting-ready-for-dinner.   Then the evening rush of baths and books and bed before you can finish cleaning up the dishes and counters and tidy up the house and fold that laundry that’s been piled on the couch since this morning.  If David isn’t home by that last stage, well, there might be an open bottle of beer in there, too.  It’s the most mundane of schedules, but the most highly structured and, well, busy.

I’m desperately trying to clean the house in one fell swoop today, because I JUST CAN’T STAND IT ANYMORE.  That and we’re decorating for Christmas this weekend, and if this chaos isn’t cleared out before the boxes and ornaments and wreaths come down from the attic I will have a mental breakdown.

Which brings be back to the haphazard cheese sticks and catatonic children, and the fact that it’s 1:35 and I’ve managed to tidy, dust and vacuum three rooms.  Yeah, three.   I’m somebody who needs to throw herself into a task completely in order to complete it well, which explains why I liked to teach all of my classes along the same schedule, even if it meant spending a weekend grading 120 essays, or why I had the an insanely meticulous thesis portfolio to finish grad school, even though I didn’t speak to my fiance for the better part of a month while I was preparing it (sorry, David!) or why, if I’m going to clean the house, I need everybody to STAY OUT OF MY WAY SO I CAN GET THIS DIRT GONE.   This whole operating-in-chunks-of-time thing throws me off.

I really hope a future employer never reads this blog post.  Not sure I can really sell my carefully-honed multi-tasking abilities now, can I?  Now, have a good weekend.  It took me entirely too long to write this post, and now I have to find where I put the Pledge–the kids will be up in thirty minutes.

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