|Don't let this fool you- they don't clean.|
I now remember why. Cleaning my house is an entirely futile enterprise.
I spend forty minutes picking up toys and putting them away, the girls are in the next room pulling all their picture books off the shelves.
I put books onto the shelves, the girls spend the time dumping their blocks all over the floor where I just picked up all their toys.
I kick the girls out of the living room (to play with their awesome toy kitchen in the dining room) so I can put all the blocks away again and clear off the couch, and every single piece of toy food finds its way onto the dining room floor.
|I came in JUST BEFORE that baking soda ended up all over the floor.|
And that is why I hadn't done it in weeks. Because I was tired of never getting anywhere.
The fact of the matter is that they are faster than me. They have more stamina than me. They have more motivation than me. And I have other crap I've got to do too.
|Yes, that's every piece of clothing from their dresser. On the floor. It took less than five minutes.|
So rather than wait until they're in bed and then put everything away, I wait until they're in bed, and then I make dinner, eat dinner, do my homework...
Am I a failure? Absolutely not. But I do feel the need to apologize every time somebody comes into my house. And maybe... just maybe... some day they'll learn to pick up their own dumb toys.
|"We love you, Mommy, but today is not that day."|