Monday, April 5, 2010
What a mess...
Here's what happens when extreme Type B meets and marries even more extreme Type B and then they have children.
Yes, this is my kitchen. It actually looks like this 90% of the time: dirty dishes on the counters, toys strewn across the floor, and basically not a clean surface in sight. Now before you clean freaks show up on my doorstep, Clorox spray in hand, rest assured that the kitchen is cleaned every day or two. I just can't seem to get ahead in that cycle of meals, dirty dishes and washing. Somehow I'm always one (big) washing behind. Only once have I had something actually start molding in my kitchen from lack of cleaning. After cooking hamburgers in my George Foreman grill one day, I left some wet paper towels to soak the especially gunky surface and before I could clean it off, they dried. After the cycle repeated a couple of times, I noticed it--mold. Eww. Nonetheless, I finally got it clean, thanks to some bleach. We have since eaten a meal cooked on the same grill without getting ill.
This is also what happens when tired mommy tries to cook delicious dinners from scratch for the family and runs out of energy before clean up commences. Or as soon as the food is prepared, everything falls apart. You mommies out there know about this. Daniel starts crying, hungry and wanting to nurse. Nathan is hungry and wants his plate fixed, his cup filled, his fork delivered to the table. I'm lucky if I get to take a couple of bites of my own food, much less worry about restoring the kitchen to a pristine state. I hope to one day be able to keep my kitchen clean most of the time, but today is not that day.
However, it is a sign of spring that I do have a desire coming over me to sort, organize and get rid of some stuff. My current project is the toy monster. I'd like to get a handle on the toy situation before someone breaks a leg. Stephen and I are tired of tripping on toys in the living room, kitchen, bedrooms--well, basically everywhere. I've decided I need a multi-pronged approach, one that includes some training on picking up after yourself for Nathan, some new toy boxes, and getting rid of some toys.
Surprisingly, this is as difficult for me as it is for Nathan, especially because I'm not too sentimental when it comes to stuff. My stuff. Stephen's stuff. But not the toys. I'm flat out attached to the toys--the same toys that I hate when I stub my toe in the middle of the night. They're like part of the family. I can't bear the thought of Nathan asking "Where's my bear (truck, ball)?" and knowing that I gave it away. Sometimes I feel like there's enough in this world to disappoint my child. How can I add to that disappointment? But then I see the tantrum in the grocery store line and I'm reminded that a childhood free of disappointment is a sure recipe for a brat.
So we are getting rid of some toys. I pulled them all out today (even the ones I had bundled away in temporary storage) and dumped them on the floor. Nathan was elated. I realized why it has been so hard for me to sort the toys that need to go. He loves them all. When he finds toys I've had put up, it's like being reunited with a long lost friend. "My dump truck!" After boxing the few toys that I knew he didn't play with much, I've embarked on a fact finding mission, to observe which toys get played with the most. Once I've got my information, I'll pull a reverse Santa Clause. Bye, bye toys. Hello, floor.