I accomplished a lot yesterday. Unfortunately, there is still a LOT to do. Which is somewhat disconcerting. And demoralizing. And just downright depressing.
I spent a good portion of the day in my son's room, attempting to wade through the piles of trash, dirty clothes, and empty food containers he had stashed under his bed. Finally, I was so disgusted frustrated, that I walked away. I'll deal with that later.
I then decided to tackle the laundry room - which had piles of folded laundry to be put away, piles of clothing to be ironed, piles of dirty clothes to be washed (that one NEVER goes away) and a huge basket of mis-matched socks. I do periodically go through the socks and try to find matches, but there are always more which are unmatched. I hold on to these lost, lonely socks because I know that eventually their mate will turn up. Usually dirty, and stuffed under a bed or in a drawer somewhere because my kids are lazy imaginative that way. Anyway, yesterday I went through them all and I am going to throw the rest away!! Yes, I am!! I'm going to throw away the unwanted, unloved, unmated socks. I am quite excited about this - my laundry room will seem so huge without the big basket of socks.
After the purging of the laundry room (which is still a work in progress), I started cleaning all of our gunky, dusty ceiling fans. I was working on the one in our bedroom, when Tim walked in and got all nervous because (ahem) apparently he never quite installed it very well and he was afraid I would "pull it down". He took over. Guess what happened. Go on - guess! Mmmm Hmmmm. He pulled it out. So then the ceiling fan situation became this huge thing where he has to go get another screw to put it back in the ceiling, and then he tries to put it back...which becomes a hugely frustrating event, filled with muttering and heavy sighs. It is in now, but - ta da!! Now it doesn't work. So an electrician will be coming out. This is how the non-operational fan looks right now...
Of course, Tim says now that I shouldn't have tried to clean it. (It's MY fault?)
After that, I decided to move on to the floors.
Which are about halfway done, so I guess the scrub brush and I will be bonding again today. Which I am not happy about, because my hand is all cramped and is killing me. Plus, I wasn't as smart as the person in the photo and wasn't wearing gloves, so my hands are all chapped and raw.
I wiped, I sorted, I scrubbed, I dusted, I purged. And I barely made a dent in the pigsty we call home. This is because I have kids.
As I'm sure you are all just thrilled to be reading about my boring day of cleaning and scrubbing, I'll end it here. You're welcome.
One final note: the other day my son pulled a lovely teenage, drama-filled stunt. Which I am not allowed to talk about. A couple of you know what I am referring to...I mention this because my dear son now has poison ivy. Which I feel is poetic justice, and well deserved.
Does that make me a bad mom?