The Poo To-Do

It was early afternoon and I was happy in my work. Unsurprisingly I was in the kitchen and predictably I was baking. I wasn't just baking anything mind you, it was of course Chocolate Cake. I had decided that when the older children returned home from school they would be in the need of sustenance and the sustenance they required was in the lovely, moist, sticky, fabulous form of my their favourite cake.
     I was having a lovely time, measuring ingredients, pouring ingredients and chattering incessantly to myself. I had once again disappeared into my own little world. A delightful little world; all bubble-wrapped and rosy coloured. But, suddenly I came crashing back down to earth. I had realised something....something terrible. It was quiet.....very quiet....too quiet.

Before commencing my little baking/daydream foray I had set up Miss Tornado Two in her room and surrounded her with all the things she loves best; her dolls, her tea-set, her teddies. When I had ducked out of her room I had every intention of popping back into her room every 5 minutes or so to check on the little cherub. Unfortunately I had soon completely forgotten.
  
I really should know better. I am the Mother of four children after all and we Mother's all know that a silent child is certainly not an idle one.

So, I crept down the hallway apprehensively....terrified of what  I would discover in the little room at the end of the house. Relief flooded through me when I heard her little piping voice babbling away in her own special language. Hopefully she was happily playing a lovely little game with her dolls I reasoned.

Unfortunately that myth was dispelled the moment I entered her room.First I detected a slightly earthy smell. A discarded nappy lay on the floor in front of me. A short distance away lay an abandoned pair of pants. In the corner sat my beautiful and charming little girl...but she wasn't alone....she was surrounded by several long brown things...and she was playing with/in them!

The gorgeous darling looked up at me, smiled sweetly and said "Poopy"
'Yes darling,' I muttered weakly 'Poopy'
And so began the long and painful process of cleaning up the precious child...and the carpet...and her dollies...and everything else she had contaminated with her ummmmm, poo.

The Chocolate cake lay discarded, forgotten, rejected. For some reason I couldn't face eating it. I couldn't even look at it. Anyone care to hazard a guess why?

It's War!

The time has come....after four years of peaceful co-existence it is up to me to take control. I have interrupted and shattered my laisse-faire attitude to certain duties and reclaimed my inner housewife (I know she's lurking in there somewhere). The concordant days of mess making are over my friends......I have declared war on my house.

Up until now we've had an amicable agreement; you see I'm not all that fussed on house keeping and my house (dirty little trollop that she is) is happy to oblige. She's definitely been looking worse for wear but neither of us were particularly bothered about this. Until recently. My lovely husband came home and announced that we needed to move. To me that means one thing.....cleaning. Well, two things actually - cleaning & packing - both are as bad as each other.

So then I walked from ramshackle room to ramshackle room making mental notes of what needed to be done. From little hand prints on walls, (which I've never cleaned off because they're "cute") to mould on the ceiling, (I can't reach up there!) from dirty blinds, (if I close them you can't see the dust) to cupboards full of crap...Oops! I mean stuff.

Out came my seldom-used cleaning apparatus and the peace was broken, I attacked my filth-encrusted house. She was bewildered, distressed, mortified. What terrible atrocities was I subjecting her to? So, she put up a good fight. Everything was stuck-on, stubborn and elbow grease resistant. I was cleaning like a mad woman and making virtually no impact.

Of course it didn't help that as I cleaned the children messed (secretly I think they were on her side.) As Little Miss not-quite-two smushed an apple muffin into my freshly vacuumed carpet I could feel hysteria begin to rise;

"Can't you keep things clean for more than 5 minutes?!" I shrieked as the children watched me frantically vacuum up the mess. I bet they were wondering what had happened to their messy, muck-about Mother.

So, after a couple of days of relentless cleaning I haven't gone very far. But I will not give up - it may take weeks but I will have a pristine house. And then I'll have to move out.....

Why am I doing this again?

Disorganised Chaos!

One of the many things I've resolved to do lately is to be more organised; with four children, a husband who typically works 7 days a week and a slowly growing menagerie of animals, I live in a a state of what I can only describe as "Disorganised Chaos". It doesn't help that I'm allergic to housework and have a memory like a sieve.
    I've always aspired to be one of those "perfect" Mothers, you know the ones, immaculately groomed - not a coiffured hair out of place, faultless makeup and gorgeous clothing that hasn't been stained with baby vomit or gone through the wash with a load of towels.
   These "perfect" Mothers have perfectly behaved little darlings with impeccable manners; unlike my rag-tag bunch of monsters. I feel like I've spent the best part of the past ten years teaching them the virtue of etiquette, keeping their hands, feet and other implements to themselves and the good  old "do unto others ...blah, blah, blah", all of these things seem to have gone in one ear and other the other with my children.
 And my house! My house is the epitome of a disaster zone! Endless rooms of clutter, excess toys & the never-ending, mountainous pile of unfolded washing. My couch is regularly painted with Milo and yogurt and my walls display the latest artwork from my creative toddler. It doesn't matter if I spend a whole day cleaning and scrubbing every conceivable surface in the place....it's all back again the next day. I'm sure that these "perfect" Mothers have "perfect" houses to match their "perfect" children.
   Another area that I need to be more organised in is my kitchen. I like to think that I'm not too shabby in the cooking department, the mess I leave afterward however leaves a lot to be desired (thank goodness the Man of the house is wonderful at cleaning up my kitchen disasters). When opening my cupboards you are at risk of being buried under an avalanche of appliances that don't work and when I do create a meal or bake something delicious it may taste good but it's not always pretty. Why can't I be one of these women that can bake a perfectly raised cake or whip up a cordon bleu dinner without breaking a sweat? (or anything else in my kitchen?)
  However, the more I think about it the more I can convince myself that the "perfect" lifestyle is not for me. Do I want to spend all day everyday cleaning up my children's messes when I would much rather be making the mess with them? Do I want to spend hours applying makeup and grooming myself when I could be spending the time enjoying my children's laughter and frivolity? Do I really have the time to spend perfecting each meal when I would much rather watch my children enjoy eating my messy creations? I may be disorganised but I am happy to be that way. Slightly ruffled, always smiling, a little bit perplexed, that's me.