Cleaning for the cleaning ladies

Imagine if you will, it is Sunday evening, the children are in bed, the dogs are quiet and all seems serene.... when suddenly a woman whizzes by in a frenzy with the faint hum of the flight of the bumblebees playing in the background. She's picking up shoes and toys, swiffering everything in sight and shooting dirty looks at her husband who is relaxing on the couch reading a book. Who is this crazed lunatic and what is she doing?? Well, that would be me and I am getting ready for Monday, when my cleaning ladies come. In my husband's words I am "cleaning for the cleaning ladies" which he finds a complete waste of time and energy. And he says it makes me crabby. As if! It's not the cleaning that's making me crabby, it's the middle aged man sitting on the couch not helping that's making me crabby! Here is where I think the sexes disconnect, women know you have to clean up the clutter or they will spend all their time picking up your clutter and not cleaning your house. It's not like they plan to spend an entire day at Tucker Manor putting dudes (action figures) in bins and conquering the dust bunny army that is forming under my couch. Men, well my husband and his buddies who find this pre-cleaning equally hilarious, think well who knows what they think because all they do is laugh and shake their heads. And maybe they are right, after all I am new to the cleaning lady experience. Thank you third child who has taken away my ability to juggle everything. But the dudes will be out of the bins again tomorrow and I need those bunnies captured before they take us all hostage. And what is the first thing I say to the cleaning crew when they show up...."Sorry for all the clutter, I'll try to have it picked up next week."

You want me to take them with ME?????

So we just recently returned from a wonderful vacation which all moms of young kids know, means fun for the kids, more work for us. My dashingly handsome husband took the day before we left off work to help me get ready. In mom-speak this means "watch the kids so I can get us all ready". Over the years we have perfected this little tango of him watching kids while I scurry around Ross county picking up last minute items, doing laundry, taking the dogs to the kennel, doing laundry, going to the bank, doing laundry, getting snacks for the trip, doing laundry and finally folding our clothing into impossibly small origami shapes and placing it all into suitcases to be put in the van. While my husband may have a more advanced degree than me, he thinks packing the van is tossing things arbitrarily into the Odyssey and forcing the door closed. I, however, inherited my mother's not-entirely-useless skill of packing. Not to be modest but I could fit a marching band in the back of my van and still have room for the mascot. So while I was semi-happily doing my part of our little dance, he was supposed to be spending quality time with his crew. Until I came back from a sunscreen/sand toys/fruit snacks run to Walmart...at which point he told me he needed to get a car top carrier for our trip. A reasonable request, fine go get one I told him. He grabs his keys, wallet and sunglasses and heads for the Jeep, a vehicle without a car seat. As he is about to hop effortlessly in, I asked him if he was forgetting something. "Nope" he replied patting his wallet. I motioned to the three faces watching him out the window. "What? What am I supposed to do with them? Take them with ME?" Now normally I would be more than happy to let him wander about Sears sans-children for an afternoon but not today. There was simply too much to do and I needed him to be, well, my bitch. Maybe assistant is a better word choice but I like the idea of him being my bitch, so bitch it is! I will never forget the shocked look on his face. So I compromised, and kept the older two who were happily pre-occupied with their ipods.


p.s. he didn't even buy the carrier

This is my first post, written on a rainy day that kept us all in doors, cooped up in close quarters for 9 looong hours. I should be grateful for the rain as the other option seems to be oppressive heat and humidity, and the local farmers need the rain. Instead of total respite however, the rain has brought cooler temperatures and crabby children. So I am hiding out in the rather large upstairs hall closet ingnoring the phone, the doorbell and my barking dogs. I guess I should take this opportunity to tell you I am a stay at home mom of four boys, ages 1, 5, 8 and 36. My oldest child is actually my husband whom I love dearly but has the intuitive helpfulness of...well, a man. Oh, and I am the only living being in this house with a uterus, even our dogs are boys. And most of the time I love being the self proclaimed "Queen of the Castle" but sometimes the moat is filled with testosterone not water. These are the adventures of a woman who never dreamed she'd be a stay at home mom, living on a street with other women who also all have boys (what is in our water?) and loving this crazy ride called life.