Confessions of a Mad Housewife

I haven’t vacuumed or washed my floors in a week and a half. The floor of our bedroom is covered with dust bunnies and I just allow them to sit and mingle with one another. Our vanity mirror is covered with white spots from teeth-brushing and shaving and I haven’t washed it because I’m too lazy to walk downstairs to get the Windex and bring it back up. I’ve picked up the books on Finny’s bedroom floor and put them back on the shelf twice in the past 24 hours. I don’t plan to pick them up again, maybe ever. It might become a safety hazard with all those slippery books on the floor, but they end up back on the floor so quickly that I’m starting to wonder if I’m attempting to fight natural law, like teaching a cow to “Baaah,” which cows actually do from time to time around here when a certain one and a half year old is not fully focused.

It took me twenty minutes to completely pick up the entire family room yesterday afternoon. It had gone so long without a pick up that only two plastic shapes remained in the otherwise empty toy box. When I got home from teaching last night at 9:00 p.m., all toys, puzzle pieces, books and choo-choos had found their way back onto the rug. They’ve been there ever since. I’m not picking them up again either. Ever.

I’ve already put the Tupperware back into the cabinet four times today and it’s only 2:30 p.m. Now, every lid, every bowl, every plastic container we own is strewn across the kitchen floor and I can’t do it. I simply cannot bend over and pick them up again.

I put Finny down for a nap at 12:30 p.m. and took a shower. By the time I finished showering, put in some laundry, poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down to write, it was 1:45 p.m. And then, Finny woke up.

I tried the paci, but it didn’t work. I can hear him up there playing in his crib. I’m not ready to get him.

I shouldn’t complain. Yesterday, he napped for four hours and I got a ton of stuff done for my Thursday night class. But, today. Today was my day to write. Today was my day to read and relax and he didn’t even nap for two hours. And the Tupperware is everywhere. It’s taking over my world and I just can’t face it again, laughing and jeering at me from every corner of the room.

But I won’t complain because I shouldn’t complain because my life is really too great to complain. But, can I at least say that sometimes I would rather be at Happy Hour? That sometimes I wish I had a Fairy Godmother who would wave her wand and turn the Tupperware bowls into Martini glasses and my graphic Ts into satin tanks and who would then get on her hands and knees and wash the crusted macaroni, banana, and green beans off my kitchen floor? Or at least call one of her friends over to wash my floors so that she and I could sit on the couch and drink Cosmos together? Can I at least say that?