How do you run things at your house?
I have some questions for the Cardio peeps who have small children. For the purposes of this post I will define small children to mean children under the age of 10. If that’s you, keep on reading but realize there will be a quiz at the end. If that’s not you, keep on reading and realize you will walk away feeling so much more at peace with your life, by comparison.
I think I have mentioned, ad nauseam, that Mr. C and I have three children — all girls, aged 7, 4 and 2 years old. Each one is a specially designed miracle and we are ever-thankful for their presence in our lives.
Okay, now that the sappy disclaimer is out of the way, sometimes they drive me up the wall and out onto the roof. And when I say that, I imagine myself like Ben Stiller in the movie “Meet the Parents” when he is actually sitting on the roof smoking a cigarette, and then accidentally sets the lawn on fire when he throws the used cigarette on the lawn. But I don’t smoke and I don’t have easy access to our roof. Bummer.
I used to be a neurotic house cleaner. I still have that lurking somewhere deep inside of me but nowadays I can only release that chick occasionally. Let’s call her Gigi. I miss Gigi. She kept this place sparkling, but she didn’t have kids. Then she only had one kid, but she did a good job. Then she had two kids, but she still did a pretty damn good job.
But this third bundle of joy has really dampened Gigi’s spirit. Instead of the bar being held up to superior, it has dropped to excellent, then good and now good enough. I am now starting to wish we had bought couches (seven years ago) that had the little flaps at the bottom that covered the view of what was hiding below. But we liked the open airy look of the couches we did buy. So they have wooden legs that are about three inches high and no skirt. Depending on where you are sitting or standing, you will either see a pink high-heel plastic Barbie play shoe or you will see the play shoe, various Kim Possible figurines, tennis shoes, wooden blocks and the flashlight I was looking for when Mr. C had the Flying Stag Beetle trapped inside his ear.
Most of the time I keep my gaze above the cushions on the couches. The question here is, do you make your kids clean up every night? Do they do it willingly with smiles on their faces and love inside of their hearts? Or do you have to crack an imaginary whip and constantly point to each object, declare the child’s name and give a detailed description of what the item is and where you would like the child to put it?
If you have a housekeeper who takes care of this stuff just keep that tidbit to yourself, okay? Because if you say I should save my pennies so I can have Merry Maids stop by once a month my hand will come through the invisible wires that connect us via the internet, pop out of your monitor and slap you silly. A housekeeper/maid is not an option.
This is like an SAT test. There is no bubble to color in with your Number 2 pencil that states Hire a maid. Got that? Good.
Let’s move onto your kid’s bedroom. Are there toys strewn about everywhere? Under the beds, in the areas meant for traversing the space (also known as open space in which to walk) and on every flat surface except the storage areas that are specifically designated for said toys and clothes? Can you walk into your kid’s bedroom in the dark and not worry about impaling your foot on an errant lego? Or do you realize you must don your steel-toe boots at 3 am when someone had a nightmare?
I have the latter situation. Most of the time I keep their bedroom door shut, or I stay on the first floor, out of sight, out of mind, as the bedrooms are located on the second floor. Every month or so on a Saturday I lie on one of their beds, with the baby by my side and I point out each item and tell either Katie or Allison to pick it up and place it in the garbage can, the dresser or the storage bin, whichever is appropriate.
My reign as Nero, ruling my minions from the throne, lasts approximately five minutes. Then the kids rebel and I end up cleaning the room until I can’t take anymore.
Sometimes I get the whole thing clean and sometimes I stop when the floor is clear everywhere but under their beds. Then I make the beds so the blankets hang to cover the mess under the beds.
I’m a big proponent these days of the phrase, “Out of sight, out of mind.” Gigi’s motto was “No stone unturned.” Did I mention I miss Gigi with all my heart and soul?
I do believe the kids are old enough to help me. But it’s sort of like when you are a manager at work. There is a massive time investment required to train the new employee. Depending on what deadlines are in place, sometimes it’s easier to do the job yourself and to wait until the deadlines pass before you train the new person.
I would like to delegate. I would like to be the CEO who sits in her office, reading the paper until the Senior VP knocks on the door and announces a potential issue. My Senior VP would tell me the situation, give me the options he has come up with and then I would tell him to go with Plan B but keep me updated, via e-mail, as my door will be shut the for the rest of the day. I would also have a pitbull of a secretary executive assistant who would throw his body in front of my closed door before he let anyone through, lest he suffer my wrath.
You read that right. My executive assistant would be a dude. A guy. A male specimen. His name would be Dane and he would be really cool and I could rely on him for most everything.
Man, where is Dane when I need him? No system is ever perfect. Dane takes long lunches.
Alright, now the pop quiz. Tell me how you deal with REAL LIFE solutions. Don’t tell me to hire out the help. Don’t tell me to let the house go so I can be a happy fairy in my children’s lives. Tell me how you cope.
