Not As Impressive As It Looks

When I said that I read a lot, or mention that I blog, or say something about writing some web content, people seem impressed. Not, you know, because they've read my brilliant writing but because they note that I have three small kids. And no nanny, cleaning lady or daycare. (I realize that this is perfectly normal in most parts of the world. But not so much around here.) They wonder where I find the time.

I've recently made room in my world for exercise again. And I do read a lot. And blog (though not as much lately). And write. And sometimes I play with my children. And I feed them. And I make sure they don't kill each other. I realized, as I incorporated exercise into my life again, that it's possible to fit in the things I really want to do.

What I don't really do is clean. I mean, there are clean dishes (a trick since our current dishwasher seems to have died recently), clean clothes and clean sheets. There's usually not any mold growing in the toilet. I try to sweep after every meal, if only to prevent ChunkyMonkey eating food from the floor. But I'm not a cleaner. I have to be inspired to mop, or to dust or to clean under the couches.

I LIKE it when things are clean, but given a choice between reading and vacuuming, the book is going to win.

But I never know how to answer people when they seem to be impressed with what I can do in a day. Do I admit that my house is messy and cluttered? That my kids ask me what I'm doing every time I mop? That my kids watch too much TV? Or do I just give them a smug smile?

All I Needed Was A Menthol Cigarette Hanging Out Of My Mouth

Is your house a mess right now?

Mine is. Even more than usual.

Which didn't seriously bother me until ten minutes ago. I've been putting away and organizing in bits and pieces all day, but I haven't exactly exerted myself. I did, however, manage to collect huge piles of trash (For the love God, toymakers, please cut down on the packaging!). I placed them by my garage door, which is also right by my front door.

When the doorbell rang, I wasn't expecting anyone. So I didn't hesitate as I trudged to the door in my sweats/bangs pinned back by a bobby pin/no make-up condition because I assumed it was UPS or something. I assumed the person on the other side of the door was a stranger - a stranger who had probably come across people much worse than me and my house.

Instead it was Ironflower and Lovebug's teacher. Of course I HAD to open the door. I apologized profusely for the mess as Hot Guy flew up the stairs from the basement and began hauling the trash into the garage. I tried to be sweet and gracious as she delivered the kids' holiday projects and gifts that we hadn't been able to pick up prior to the holiday break. I fear that I just looked hysterical as I tried to explain away the mess - and the fact that Lovebug came jogging out of his room sans pants - and the fact that Ironflower came out of her room wearing socks with a big hole in them.

Lovebug has a habit of taking off his pants while napping. But the hole in Ironflower's socks appeared today. It's the first time she has EVER worn out a pair of socks. EVER. And did I mention that my sweatshirt has spit up stains on it?

We are SO the trashiest family at the preschool.

(If you don't believe me, notice that I'm blogging about this instead of scrubbing my floors.)

Over-Sensitive or Over-Worked?

I was talking to my neighbor last week and she said something that I just can't get over. I know I should. She wasn't trying to make me feel bad. She's a very sweet person. Really. We've bonded a lot while gossiping about the OBs at the practice we both go to (she's a trimester behind me). But as I apologized for my dirty sweats by explaining that I was cleaning that day, she said something that just . . .just BOTHERED me.

She said, "Just make your husband do it. It's too hard to clean when you're pregnant. My husband does all the cleaning now."

This is a woman who does not have a job outside the home. She doesn't even blog! And she's in great shape. And her husband works long hours. And I am so jealous I could spit.

I mean, Hot Guy helps. When he's home. And what he does that's REALLY spectacular is never complain about how messy the house gets. Sometimes he asks for clean underwear (but I want to say - in my defense - is that he's only asking because I haven't put the laundry away, not that I haven't washed it) but that's it. And I took on the cleaning (such as it is) and the laundry when I became a stay-at-home. So it's not like I feel that I have it so tough.

But still, not having to clean for the next 8 weeks would be so AWESOME. Is it normal for men to take over the cleaning when their wives are pregnant? Have I been gypped? Should I invite my neighbor's husband over and flaunt my belly at him?

Embracing My Inner (Outer?) Domestic Dorkiness

Clearly it's time for me to get some high-powered executive type job (never mind that I can't even get a teaching job around here, surely I can get an executive position I'm not qualified for) and hire a cleaning lady. Or a cleaning man. Whatever- I'm not sexist. It's just that the whole stay-at-home mom writing/blogging gig is not so lucrative (though any tips/websites/suggestions/job offers on how to make it more so would be much appreciated) and I need an Alice (like on the Brady Bunch).

My chore options today (as opposed to all the regular cleaning/straightening stuff) were mopping the first floor or cleaning out the refrigerator. Since I LOATHE mopping and love organizing, I decided to clean out the fridge. Although, honestly, how does it get dirty in the first place? It's not like I let the children play in there. Anyway, I removed the contents and began scrubbing with my Target brand Clorox wipes. And somehow I slipped, banged my head on the produce drawer and made one of the shelves fall onto my head.

Yes, I injured myself while cleaning out the refrigerator.

Mommy the Maid

That's the title of some mom's blog, "Mommy the Maid." I've never read it and I don't know the writer, so I don't mention it to inspire anyone to read. I mention it because the title scares me. If I were my maid, I would fire me.

I know that keeping the house clean and the laundry done goes with the whole stay-at-home mommy territory, but it's just not my thing. I mean, the laundry's always done (and usually put away), the dishes are done, the toilets cleaned and the floor is swept. But that's about it. I don't dust very often and no one in their right mind would eat off of my floors. All the mirrors should be Windexed. There's a lot of clutter. And I don't think I've ever cleaned the windows.

I scrubbed out the refrigerator last week. I was very proud of this accomplishment until I saw that the milk had leaked. I bitched at Hot Guy about it and for some reason he took offense. All I could think was, "Oh my Goddess, I have to clean it again?" I like tasks that can be completed and set aside for a while. It's why I only do laundry two days a week and why toy pick up doesn't happen until right before bed. I get a certain satisfaction out of being DONE.

That's probably why I'm not good at those little lifestyle changes that make diets so successful. I've switched to olive oil spread and low fat mayonnaise and I can't understand why I haven't lost thirty pounds. But I digress. Maybe if I did all the maid type stuff I would lose thirty pounds, I don't know. In fact, I doubt I'll ever know - there's no way I'll ever be able to describe myself as "Mommy the Maid".