Blaine -- still thinking that although radiation is hopefully the cure, it has certainly kicked his tail in the meantime. And, preparing to have tubes put in his ear….. again …. In an attempt to stop the ringing and the constant plug-up-ed-ness. (is that a word?)
Number of minutes I spent explaining to the kids why the “we’re just going to get it dirty again, so why should we clean it now?” argument doesn’t really work: Too many.
Number of minutes I spent actually showing them exactly what rooms I wanted them to vacuum, and exactly which pieces of furniture I wanted them to dust: Five.
Number of minutes I spent disentangling the vacuum cleaner from the mountain of blankets in the front coat closet because whatever man designed this house was a total moron and didn’t include ONE SINGLE FREAKING LINEN OR STORAGE CLOSET NOT ONE WOULD THAT BE TOO MUCH TO ASK????: Only three minutes, but there was a lot of swearing.
Number of minutes I spent just dusting the furniture myself because Kellen pulled his incompetent routine: Ten.
Number of minutes it took for the kids to pull every pillow and blanket in the house into Brayden’s bedroom to make a pile worth jumping off the bed into: One. Not even one. Half of one.
Number of minutes it took for me to nag Brayden into cleaning it back up when they were done: Five.
Number of minutes Brayden spent complaining about how no-one ever helps her do anything and they were playing too so why does she have to do all the work: Endless.
Number of minutes spent persuading Kendrie that just because she’s going to wear them again tonight, it’s still not OK to leave her pajamas in the middle of the hall floor: Three.
Number of minutes spent cursing after stepping barefooted on one of the millions of
And when all was said and done, and the house was clean again (albeit briefly) and I finally went into the bathroom and sat down on the potty, what should I spy with my little eye? A random piece of plastic, from some random Crappy Meal toy, lying on the floor, in the shape of a perfect “F”. And I sighed, and thought, “Yes, my little plastic toy friend, I know just how you feel.”
Needless to say, when school starts Friday morning in just forty eight hours count 'em just forty eight not that I'm excited or anything, we *will* be going back to our chore charts.
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