...There'd be days like this. Oh boy. It's a doozy.
We've had the flu (so far, 6 out of 7 of us, with one home today). There's "flu-ness" everywhere. Some serious cleaning needs to be done, and trust me when I say I'm trying, but one little boy is dead set against the making of progress.
There are piles of bedding that need to have the chunks shaken out before they can even come near my washing machine. (Daddy's who are the breadwinners, and who have cashed out all their remaining vacation/sick days in order to buy Christmas presents, don't want to get anywhere near pukey germs. Can't say I blame him, er, them.) Toilets desperately need to be cleaned. Socks, now washed, needed to be matched. We've had so many baths that there is a pile of towels so high it rivals Mount Kilimanjaro. Garbage cans need to be restored to their actual intended function. Never mind the disinfecting of everything that would be beneficial to all of mankind, and then the general stuff of everyday.
But mommies with the flu, who don't seem to get the quick 12-hour variety that everyone else got, aren't much good for stuff like that. Or, at least, not all that. Because let's be honest. Even when the mom is sick, she's still a mom, and you can never really take a day totally off. Not even a sick day.
Before I got sick, the little guy, newly turned two, he got it. Thankfully this is the first time he's had the flu. One thing about toddlers, they don't give you any barf warning. So as he sat watching cartoons, reclining on the floor in front of the tv, he drenched himself and the rug around him. Lovely. I shampooed and scrubbed it twice and the smell still didn't come out. So I dumped vinegar on it and shampooed it again. Well, it doesn't smell like barf anymore but the vinegar smell is only a small improvement. Round 4, dear Bissell Powercleaner?
Friday was payday. Checkbooks need to be balanced. Bills need to be paid. All so I can start the task of Christmas shopping. (Yes, I said 'start.' I officially detest you people who were done a week ago.) But apparently, boys need to be cuddled more than any of that. Because when you don't cuddle them, they will make you pay.
And then he will help himself to yogurt. And applesauce. Sorry, no picture.
After he is fed and cuddled, and you are tricked into thinking all is well, you will try to climb Mount Kilimanjaro do some laundry. He will take these moments of your distraction and he will try to change his poopy diaper. All by himself. And then try to get new clothes. All by himself. And he will leave a poopy trail all up the stairs. The carpeted stairs. And I will get to clean that, all by myself.
Seriously wishing I had a stair attachment on my carpet cleaner right now.
In retrospect, clean towels is no trade-off for poopy stairs. Live and learn.
Oh, did I mention Schweetheart is coming to visit, much overdue? Yeah, so there's prepping for her that needs to be done. Don't want the poor girl to walk in and feel like she's staying at the local dump. Clean. Purge. Paint. Rearrange. Plus, need to plan some fun stuff to do. I see some baking in the future!!!
I have people in my life who seem to think I'm the worst mom ever, worst housekeeper ever. But let me just challenge you to live my life for a week. A day is not long enough. Anyone can survive a day. Try a week. A month. When there's no respite in sight. Yeah, that's when you can grow some compassion for how much I actually DO accomplish. My floors might not be spotless, there are piles of clutter in most corners. But the important stuff gets done. Meals, laundry, hugs, some homework. Sure, I need to take more time to listen and hug on my kids, to read them stories, spend less time online, clean a closet. But I think we can all think of things we could do better, could have done better. We have to make choices. At times, one thing gets "neglected" to take care of another more pressing issue. I have no desire to strive for perfection. It's way too hard, and anytime I've had a backlash of trying to be something I'm not because someone criticized me and I tried harder, it only made me very unhappy. If ya know the saying, "If mama ain't happy, ain't no one happy" then you'll know that spotless counters and stovetops are not worth the OCD freak-outs, cleaning-Nazi attitude and screaming that happen when trying to maintain that illusion of perfection. Not worth it to me, anyway. I don't need illusions. I'm happy being imperfectly me. I know my house is not hoarder-esque/Dept of Sanitation worthy, and my children are loved and tended. The people that love them and know them well, constantly tell me stories of how awesome they are. Cuz they are. so. awesome.
(FYI, I wrote this post while eating lunch. And, other than my attempt to balance the checkbook gone cuddle time, I haven't sat down today.)
So, on "days like this," I suit up, and do my best. Everything will get done it time. And THANK THE HOLY STARS ABOVE for naptime.
