Clean House, Mean Mom

Trying to clean your house with your kids home is like eating Oreos then chewing a piece of gum. If you don’t have Oreos, ho-ho’s make a suitable replacement for the metaphor. The words, “Stop! I just cleaned all of that up!”, were as ridiculous as they were pointless. My words fell on deaf ears and were drowned out by the harmony of their laughter.

I hated matching socks before, but now my laundry is full of all these little people socks. Then I roll them and think of how glad I am I have these little socks to roll.

The sink is full of dishes. There’s a kaleidoscope of small colorful plates. They not only fill my dishwasher, but they fill my heart with joy. 

I pickup up toys in the playroom, and a motion-activated toy makes a noise that scares a goody out of me. I’m going to find that thing. I’m going to burn it with fire. I then stepped on a tiny toy and yelled something I’m glad the boys didn’t hear. That pain is nothing compared to what I felt without them. 

I guess joy can be found in housekeeping after all. 


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