Okay. I'm hearing you. What I'm wondering is, where's the twelve step program? Cause this girl likes a clean house. I have standards. And if you just want me to *poof* - let them go, well I'm going to need some help with that. Here's my pre-baby cleaning schedule. Don't judge:
Clean the kitchen. This includes running the dishwasher, sweeping, cleaning the stove off, etc.
Make the bed.
Wash and fold any and all dirty laundry. Put said laundry away.
Many times a week:
Clean the bathroom. Toilet, sink, counter tops, tub. Sweep and wash floor.
Vacuum. For the love of god, vacuum.
Change sheets on the bed.
Dust entire house.
Wipe down television and electronics.
Water all plants. This is not actually a cleaning exercise. But it does keep the foliage alive.
Wash all floors.
Wash main windows.
Wipe down woodwork.
God - just writing about it all makes me feel all tingly and satisfied. Until I remember that those pretty lists are no more. The foliage is dying.
Here's my post-baby cleaning schedule. Don't judge:
(There is no plan! Dear lord, I am winging it - flying by the seat of my pants! There is no plan! No PLAN!!!)
And here's the proof:
This is my bedroom. In this particular case, somebody has done laundry. Note that the laundry remains in the basket. It has been there for over five weeks. Also, note the container of wipes. I almost shouldn't admit that the container does not hold fresh, new wipes. Rather, it contains dried up, dirty, used wipes from late night changes. That's right folks. Dehydrated poop particles. I'm keeping them in a plastic container in my bedroom. Because.
This is the "family bed." Note the crib directly adjacent. Nobody sleeps in this crib. Because my babies flip the f*** out if you put them in a crib. You may also note the moses baskets in the crib, signifying a desperate, yet failed, attempt to lure the babies into the crib. Look, babies. Soft and cozy baskets. What? No? You want to sleep with mommy and daddy instead? And puke little baby vomitus on us all night? Well okay then. I should add that while you may not be able to see it, let alone smell it, there is most certainly three to four gallons of dried spit up on those sheets. Mostly around the head and pillow area.
This is our nursery. No babies sleep in here. Rather than letting the room go to waste, we now store the air mattress against the wall. For emergencies where loving husband gets kicked out of bed by mommy. Because dear lord - there are four of us in a puke encrusted bed.
This is our clean laundry, waiting rather impatiently for folding. We used to sit on this couch, but that was before it became a glorified, over sized laundry basket.
So my secret is out. Do not expect an invitation over to my house.
And I have to be honest. I'll find the time to clean this disaster long before I learn to accept it. Because while I am all about acceptance - I am sleeping in dried vomit.