Prelude
When Portia and I were teenagers, we used to babysit for Mrs. Borden. Mrs. Borden had born three hoodlums (all male) to a crazy man. Mr. and Mrs. Borden liked to go out and have fun and then she and Mr. Borden, who was crazy (did I mention that?), would come home all soused up, and he would tell jokes that we would pretend to understand.
Mrs. Borden was a terrible, terrible housekeeper, and Portia and I talked about her unmercifully.
Last Monday
Me: Portia, I am absolutely exhausted. I’ve cleaned the house all day long. I’ve done 10 loads of laundry. I’ve just taken down the Christmas tree. I’ve vacuumed. I’ve gone to the grocery store with both little Beans in tow. I’ve cleaned bathrooms, polished silver, given Hyacinth a bath, and I’ve composed a letter in my head to Melissa and Doug telling them how much I like their toys, but that I don’t know why they can’t be a little more mommy friendly, i.e., storage problems with one-dimensional magnetic people and magnetic clothes that come in box with no lid. And now I’m scrubbing walls while I talk to you, but my house still looks like a disaster zone because Moose can create a big mess a lot faster than I can pick things up.
Portia: You have to take a break. You cannot catch up. I won’t ever forget finding a half-eaten sandwich under Mrs. Borden’s couch and thinking that she had to be the worst housekeeper ever. And now I’m scared to look under my own couch.
After Portia said that, I looked under my own couch. Suffice it to say, that I’m still reeling from the shock, and I have not had time to compose a post.
In the interest of maintaining the blog, I’m going to post a few pictures I took over the holidays. If I can ever get my house cleaned, I will return with a proper blog post.
XOXO, Jenny
{ 11 comments }
The Harry Potter glasses are a riot!
You’re boys are adorable! They’re going to be very handsome when they grow up. Hopefully, not too soon! I know they’re a handful now but cherish these days. You can’t cuddle a 20 yo. Besides, they get all wigged out if you try.
You polish silver? I haven’t polished a piece of silver in over 10 years. I don’t even know if I still OWN that piece of silver. I don’t even do the copper bottoms of my Revereware pots. I let some of the tomato sauce drip down the sides onto the bottom sometimes. That polishes it.
No need to write when you can post pictures of boys that beautiful. My God, have more babies Jenn. They’re perfect!
Irene, cuddling is my favorite. When Moose just climbs up in my lap and wants to be held, I melt…. Yes, I have silver. I only polish it once a year–around Thanksgiving, but someone dropped a few pieces in a Chlorox solution and tarnished the hell out of them.
Pamela, thank you! I still have two frosties that I’m thinking about putting up for auction on Ebay!
Those are not babies anymore. Those are big boys. Big, adorable boys that are going to be real heart-breakers before you know it. Girls will be calling and coming and going non-stop. You will have enough blog fodder to never have to look under your couch again.
And those? Those are a VERY large giraffe and zebra in your living room. LOL 🙂
Oh my gosh! Those boys are even cuter than my sweetness! And, please don’t clean anymore. It makes hands rough, one’s back hurt, and, in the long, takes your life away!
Ally: be quiet! You’re scaring me! 😉
Nanner: Thank you, and I think you’re right–I need to give up cleaning. It just frustrates me because I never seem to make any progress. Cheers!
Those are two of the cutest kids in the world. But I know what boys are like! I had my two oldest, now 21 and 18, home for Christmas! What a crazy house where everyone was eating all day!!! We’re still putting things away a week later. And the fridge is empty and won’t be refilled until payday next week! Yikes!
So after a year, Jenny decided to look under the couch, but nothing–I mean nothing–could inspire her to look under that bed of hers.
About six months ago, Mimi, who keeps up with her stuff which includes the forty thousand THINGS she bought for Jax last year, discovered that one of Jack’s yellow Croc’s had gone missing. She asked me about that stupid shoe thousands of time–enough times that I actually started looking for it.
We looked everywhere for that yellow Croc except under Jenny’s bed. Finally, it occurred to Mimi and me that there must be snakes under that bed–Jenny is deathly afraid of anything that slithers.
It was Mimi, whose own fear of snakes was overcome by fear of loosing a shoe, who borrowed my flashlight and a hoe to undertake the unthinkable.
I did the manly thing and left the house, and while I was gone, she unearthed the shoe…. Mimi is a brave girl.
Mrs. Borden also had a raunchy taste in literature, don’t you remember? Anyway I do feel silly and a little guilty for my teenage judgmental thoughts about her housekeeping. Little did I know that all that babysitting was practice for the eventual arrival of my own three hellions!
And no, I prefer not to ever go near the underneath of any furniture.
Cleaning is a dirty word. In fact it is the mother of ALL dirty words. Probably because it involves dirt. But I’ve made my peace with housework. Until that filthy rich relative I don’t know I have dies and leaves me all of his or her money so I can hire half a dozen full-time maids, I’ll settle for neat instead of spotless. Heck, I’ll settle for sort of neat. I’m sorry but there are too many things that matter so much more than passing a white glove test. It would just be nice if I could find my desk and countertops again… 🙂
Good post. You’re right. No matter how much you clean, no matter how hard you work….’they’ mess it up faster than I can stay ahead of them.
Very adorable young men you have, Jenny. 🙂
Yes! Sister! I, too, have a couch that has weird xhit under it. In fact, it also has stuff down inside it, as well. If I ever cleaned under and inside my couch I would have to buy a new one, because that couch would eat us alive. I had a Mrs. Borden in my life, too. I used to sneer because she Didn’t Do the Dishes Every Day. Well, in our house dishes now stack up until we run out, or until I can trip The Boy on the way through the kitchen and shanghai him into doing them (I justify this by telling him, “Hey, I earn the money to keep us afloat. We’re too small an operation for anybody to get a free ride. Do the dishes.” So far this has been persuasive.)
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