The Futility Of Housekeeping

For the record, I am so not Martha Stewart. The Hubbs can attest to this.

My side of the bedroom is dominated by a mountain of laundry piled on top of a hope chest. I have an equally large pile of papers to the right of my desk — wedged between said desk, a wall, and a bookshelf — that are waiting to be shredded. My shoes would be in their organizer, if the Monkey didn’t delight in going in there every other morning and pulling them all out for me to put on, then putting them back. On the floor. Hey, at least they’re in the closet.

The rest of our house is dominated by toys. Visitors be warned when you enter our house. While walking in the hallways, keep your eyes on the ground, scanning for balls of all sizes. Despite picking them up and putting them in various bins around the house each day, they all inevitably end up back in the hallway, which the Monkey uses as his personal pitching mound/soccer field/football field.

And have you ever tried to keep a house clean when a toddler lives there? It’s impossible I tell you. Case in point: I took Friday off from work. I needed a break and wanted to spend some time with the kid. During the Monkey’s 2-hour morning nap I was able to:

  • Unload and load the dishwasher;
  • Hand-wash a week’s worth of toddler dishes, sippy cups, and milk bottles;
  • Hand-wash some pots and pans and put them away;
  • Sweep all the hallways/hardwood floors;
  • Vacuum the kitchen and dining room floors;
  • Scrub/de-crud the Monkey’s high chair and our kitchen table;
  • Mop the kitchen and dining room; and 
  • Pick up all the various toys from the main areas of the house and put them away.

And then the tornado woke up.

Despite going out for a good chunk of the afternoon for a play date with his cousin and a doctor’s appointment for me, the house was a train wreck again. By the time the Hubbs got home, he couldn’t tell that I’d done anything. There were cookie crumbs — and cookies — dotting the floor of the kitchen and dining room, crunching underfoot and scattering like dust everywhere. All the toys that I had picked up? Most of them were strewn across the floor again. I was in the process of making dinner, so you couldn’t see the kitchen counter tops. After putting the Monkey to bed and eating dinner, there were more dishes to do.

And I wanted to scream. Because I swear, for like … 20 minutes the house was pretty much clean. And it took me TWO HOURS to get it to that point.

I’ve come to the conclusion that to keep some semblance of order in our home, we need to hire someone to do the dishes every night. With that extra time, I’ll be able to fold laundry, pick up the house, work on the Peanut’s nursery, and … I don’t know … SIT DOWN before 10:30 p.m. each night to relax.

Any volunteers? I’ll feed you dinner each night …

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