Many Personalities- One Girl

Today seemed like the perfect day to be Sloth Barbie. I was all set to play with my computer, watch TV, read my book(s) and eat bad food. I came lazily down the stairs, rubbing my eyes.

Upon arriving downstairs, my feet met the floor with a crunch (ew). As my vision became clearer, I began to see that my house was in no shape for me to be Sloth Barbie. Instead, I was going to really need to be Princess-Clean-A-Lot Barbie. *gag*

My house actually looked like a bunch of rednecks had hosted a monster truck rally in my living room and kitchen. I sighed and my shoulders slumped as my Sloth Barbie dream went "poof" and I began reorganizing my day in my head.

My kids had each invited a friend or two from the neighborhood over, and I was watching my niece and nephew. At one point I counted thirteen kids in my back yard, ranging in age from four to twelve. And all thirteen of those kids tried to tromp through my kitchen after I had scrubbed it. I threatened them with their very lives if they did. They, wisely, chose an alternate route to their final destination.

The whole time I was cleaning, I was mumbling and grumbling to myself. I, for the life of me, can not figure out how someone can be so pretentious as to just expect me to clean up after them. I mean, not just clean the toilets, dishes, clothing, floors and everything else (which they do), but to actually pick up their dishes when they are done with them; to pick up their dirty towels as they throw them on the floor after a bath; to throw away their gum wrappers they throw on the floor. Honestly!

How did I raise children like this??? Or is this what all children are like? Because, I gotta' tell you, one the huge perks I was counting on past potting training was assigning chores to someone other than myself. However, this is just not working out.

I hate housework with all the passion in my body. I hate it, hate it, hate it. I can not STAND to do something, have it look all nice, and then pffbbbb- gone. In exactly one and a half seconds my children can erase hours of scrubbing and organizing.

So today, as I was sacrificing myself for the sake of my family, when I would ask someone to, like, oh, close a drawer for me, or open a cabinet, and they would whine, it made me angry. And when they would sigh and carry on like I was asking them to move a mountain, I wanted to turn them out to the streets. And when they did do something- however minor -they expected high praise. Like when they picked up their own gum wrapper, they would ask if they got extra allowance!

By the end of the day, I was not Sloth Barbie or Princess-Cleans-A-Lot Barbie. I was Grouchasaurus Barbie. Mommy Barbie had left the building ages ago. And any scrap of PTA Mommy Barbie was completely and utterly gone.

The good news: the house is (for the most part) clean; I have been able to tame my inner beast with a donut and a diet coke; and, the children have indeed lived to see another day. Tomorrow... Well, tomorrow I'll try again for Sloth Barbie- only in a much cleaner house!