cleaning

BloggingThe Story

Thank You, Mr. Mom

by Jill
written by Jill

I left the kids with Scott for 5 days while I did the Blogher thing in San Diego. I kept trying to prepare him for what it might be like, how stressful it would inevitably be, how impossible it would be to keep the house and the kids clean. I didn’t want him to feel disappointed in himself.

I know how hard it is to do it all on your own. I stay by myself with them for a week at a time many, many times a year while he travels for work. I KNOW how mind-numbing the experience can be, how they just suck every last ounce of energy out of you, leaving you with no will to clean the house, and most days, even yourself. Most of the time when Scott gets back from a week-long work trip, the house looks like a bomb went off, and I greet him in my pajamas at 5 p.m. from the night before, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, hairy legs. But, I present to him 2 alive, well, and mostly happy children; I consider it a success.

“It’s all about survival mode,” I told him. “All you have to do is survive and keep the kids alive. I’ll help clean when I get home.”

I’m a very kind wife like that.

Oh, survive they did. And thrive. And clean. 

I came home on Sunday night to a house that was not only clean, but he had actually taken on projects to organize, too. Our master closet has been a death trap for nearly a year. I thought about taking a “before” picture of it to share with you all one day, but I was worried somebody would turn me into CPS for letting my kid play hide and seek in it. (Only sort of kidding.)

Just imagine it looking nothing like this with huge mounds of clothes and shoes on the floor and craft supplies like scissors and glue guns precariously teetering over the top shelves.

He claims he just “had to do something.” He couldn’t just “sit around all day.” “Not that *you* sit around all day!” he was sure to make that disclaimer.

So the closet was organized, the dishes were done, the floors swept, the bathrooms clean, the laundry? Washed, folded AND put away. I can never make all that happen in a week!

The icing on the I-Must-Suck-At-My-Job cake is now Leyna will only fall asleep if he rocks her. She spent 4 hours yesterday fighting a nap, and I mean fighting in the truest sense; I have the scratches, bruises and nearly lost a nipple to prove it. Scott walked in from work, took her from me, rocked her for 2 minutes and she was out. I think she hates me for leaving her.

That’s fine. Whatever. I’m okay with sucking at this. I think this is a sign that I should get paid to “network” some day while he stays home. I was very awesome at “networking” last week. Now… to get paid large sums of money to dress up, drink wine, squeee at other ladies and hug everyone I see…. must think on how to make that happen.

I have an actual Blogher re-cap post coming tomorrow. In the meantime, be sure to enter the BornFree Blogher Giveaway for a $500+ prize package. Anyone, even those of you not at Blogher (from the US and Canada) can enter.

 

 

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Home Decor & DIYParenthoodStuffThe Story

Faking it

by Jill
written by Jill

Every now and then a friend will say something to me like, “How do you do it all?” or, even worse, refer to me as a “Supermom.” It’s totally mind boggling. It really is. I do NOT have it all together, I certainly don’t do even close to half of it, and I still haven’t gotten around to making my Supermom cape (though the fabric is purchased and stacked nicely among all the other piles of fabric for all the other projects I keep meaning to do but never seem to make their way out of my craft closet).

On these occasions, I usually chime something back like, “What? Me? Oh, honey. It’s all smoke and mirrors.” Truly, it is. I’ve actually always been pretty good at faking it, glossing things over, tidying up at the last minute, disguising and distracting. All skills that I’ve found to be massively helpful since becoming a mom, and even just since becoming a home-owner.

Truth be told, my house is never as clean as it is the mornings I host play group. So, the charade should be up now for all the play-groupie friends reading this. That level of sterile, the environment free of animal hair is not normal. My secret is out.

I’m a big believer in the power of a good spot clean. Why take the time to scour the whole thing when only a part of it looks dirty? Don’t get me wrong, the germs that live on the clean looking parts meet their match about once every week or two, but the rest of it gets special attention more often only if it actually *looks* dirty.

My husband and I have worked out a bit of a system over the last two years, dividing jobs. He loads the dishes since he can’t stand the way I don’t pre-rinse them enough (hey, only trying to save the environment), and I unload them because I can’t stand the way he has no regard for the order of things around here. I pretty much do all the laundry, including the diapers. He cleans the cat box, and the toilets. I vacuum (because I still love my Dyson so much I could lick it) and he mops. That last part is what I love the most. He mops this worst-idea-ever-thank-you-stupid-bachelor-with-no-pets-or-kids-who-lived-here-before-us WHITE TILE KITCHEN FLOOR that shows everything. I despise this floor almost as much as Ann Coulter.

However, from time to time, like when he’s traveling and it’s my week to host play group, the tile floor desperately needs attention. So what do I do? Well, I sure as hell don’t lug that nasty ass mop out of the garage and start a sink of mop water. Instead, I take a cue from my old pal Pippy. You remember her, right? Pippy Longstocking? Who among us DIDN’T want to skate around on a floor of suds?

I slip on my super cool, hot pink MOP SHOES!

Not very much unlike these (on sale at LillianVernon.com for only $4.98)

I grab my spray bottle full of water, vinegar and a dash of Dr. Bronner’s castile soap, spray, spray spray, then slide, slide, slide, doing side lunges back and forth across the floor. It’s quite the workout. When I come across a particularly stubborn spot, I do a little twist. I guess if I really wanted to let lose, I could try out all sorts of dance moves, though the running man might end in disaster.

It takes all of about 5 minutes, and Viola! The white tile floor is sparkling…sorta… if you don’t look too close… especially at the baseboards. But, hey, it’s enough to feel like the kitchen is presentable, and I don’t get nearly as frustrated at the first person or animal who drops a ball of hair/cup of milk/pool of drool on it, knowing such minimal effort went into it all.

So that’s one of my little tricks in my bag of smoke and mirrors. What about you? Come on, ‘fess up. What do you do to “fake it”?

Kendall is less than 2 weeks away from turning 2. Holy. Moly.

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