The other night Darren said he didn’t care if the house was a little messy for a bit. I think he noticed that despite my very good and sincere efforts, I cannot keep up with the mess these days. He must have forgotten what happened when he told me that he didn’t really mind if my legs were a little hairy sometimes.

It’s so kind of him to notice that I try, and impossible for him to not realize that I’m losing the battle. And I wish I could just say f#$% it and let it go, but if it is this disastrous now, I can’t imagine what it this place would look like if I didn’t spend every waking moment trying to maintain some order. I swear, no matter what else I may be doing, I am always picking something up, wiping something off, putting something back…always. And yet, there is ALWAYS more.

It’s hard to not feel like I’m coming up short. As a stay-at-home mom, I certainly consider it one of my responsibilities to keep the house in order. But, as some sort of sick joke, it appears that it is everyone else’s job in this house to be the biggest slob they can possibly be.

The other day, just moments after a “please pick up for yourself” plea, Madeline asked me where her Spongebob bag was. I sent her down the hall to her brother’s room where she found the bag, and then walked back down the hall emptying all of the contents of the bag in a trail-like fashion thru the whole house.

It’s the nature of the beast (kids); if I don’t need it right now, I’ll just drop it where I stand and move on. And then I will demand that Mommy know where it is the next time I want it.

“Mommy where are my roller skates?”

“I put them away.”

“Away where?”

“Where they belong.”

“Well how am I supposed to know where that is?”

She’s got me there.