The saying goes, “A mother’s job is never done.” I hate that quote actually because it alludes to a sense of motherly martyrdom that I don’t personally feel obligated to, nor do I take on. But let’s be real, it’s true. It’s already been said by every other woman out there, mom or not; there’s always laundry to do, dishes to clean, meals to make, floors to mop…it’s a vicious cycle. We will never be caught up. Unless I decide to force everyone in my family to remain in their birthday suit for a couple hours, than there will always be a load of laundry to finish. Unless I decide to starve or dehydrate my children and husband, there will always be a load of dishes to run. Unless I decide to hire a hypnotist to levitate everyone off the floor 24/7, there will always be a Swiffer Wetjet in action.
I may be in for some serious help though soon enough if Ayla keeps it up. She loves to help sweep and gets upset with me when I don’t let her fold “lawnjree.”
Now, I’m blessed, because I do have a husband that helps out with the kids when I need a reprieve. But when momma’s home daddy leaves most of the duties to me. Which means many days consist of: 7:30am wake up (okay, 7:30″ish”), feed kids, 8:45am leave for work, 11:30am pump at work, 12:30 eat lunch, 3;00pm pump again at work, 5:00pm leave work, 5:15pm start dinner, 6:00pm feed the fam, 6:30pm clean up after dinner, play with kids, 7:30pm start baths, 8:00pm put kids to bed, 8:30pm tidy up the house, throw in some laundry, sweep a floor, empty the trash, let the dogs out….you get the gist. We all get the gist. So, the other day after the kids were to bed and I was ready to clean up their playroom, my hubs paused his (second) movie of the night, leaned back in his recliner and said, “I started to pick up in there, but then, well, I just didn’t know what else to do…” I’m sure you can imagine my confusion, when the room looked like this when he said that:
Needless to say, my husband’s version of clean is slightly different than mine. The fact that he attempted to pick up though, was pretty sweet. It also explains why every time he trims his hair our bathroom sink looks like Cousin It was murdered. He started to pick up, but then didn’t know what else to do…