As the More is More Mom®, I wonder why I am always cleaning up…..more messes? It seems unlikely to me that I could be the only person that notices that things are out of order. In what universe does “mother” mean “maid”? Oh, apparently in mine….. I can see now that while I was busy patting myself on the back for being so darn efficient, I was really shooting myself in the foot.
Speaking of feet….I love shoes! After all, Imelda Marcos is my idol. But last time I checked, my people had only one pair of feet, each. So, why is it that there are never a shortage of shoes kicked off, piled up, topsy turvy in the mud room? Certainly, it would seem entirely possible, to open up the closet door and drop the shoes into their own personal basket provided for them. Apparently, not so much.
I consider myself to be somewhat of a problem solver, but on occasion it appears that I am a problem encourager. My Nick is a creature of habit (especially the habits that are sloppy). Ever since he started driving, he’ll come in through the mudroom and empty his pockets (save for the occasional pen that goes through the laundry and explodes mid cycle, resulting in ink all over the wash machine and afore mentioned laundry) dumping the contents, in a big, fat pile, on the chest of drawers; keys, wallet, pens, pencils, gum. It’s an unsightly mess. My genius solution was to provide him with a receptacle to house his belongings. I gave him a small planter adorned with butterflies to compliment the décor in our mudroom (who knew that mudroom’s could have décor?). Now it is an even bigger mess because it is a magnet for anything that Nick has had in his pockets, or even hands, that he doesn’t want to deal with; pens, pencils, golf tees, golf balls, ball markers, those little pencils you get from golf courses, scorecards, Mc Donald’s gift cards, even the picture order form and check from his sophomore year when he was suppose to have his ID picture taken). I need a better solution, short of expecting that he might actually put everything away.
What is up with the wet towels? Why are they always on the floor, behind the door or in the closet? What is so heinous and offensive about using one of the four hooks that Chuck installed in their bathroom? Do they have cooties? Why is there always toothpaste in the sink? That leads me to believe that there isn’t enough toothpaste on the tooth brush, and quite frankly I’m not up to thinking about that.
Glassware, discarded clothing, food wrappers, magazines, text books, notebooks, sofa pillows out of order, never to be returned to their rightful place in the world, both of my pals are perpetrators, but the car? That’s all Nick (only because Amanda doesn’t even have her permit yet).
Because I try to be a good mom, when Nick has a long day on the links, I pack him a PB & J so he doesn’t get too hungry. The other day, I was looking for the sandwich box (it’s not that I don’t have more, it’s just that I like to keep my inventory intact. Again, I know I wasn’t Cleopatra or Marie Antoinette in a former life, but I do believe that I may have been a shop keeper.). Heaven forbid Nick return something to its rightful place, so I decided to hunt it down in the trunk of his car instead. OMG! Not since the promo for Hoarders; Buried Alive have I seen such a fright! There must have been at least 18 empty water bottles, countless flattened sleeves of golf balls, an extra golf bag, golf shoes, head covers, food wrappers, but the worst? The worst was the rotting banana peel. I suppose I could have been thrilled he’d been eating fruit rather than chocolate (like mother, like son), but it was hard to get past the disgusting factor.
I suppose, looking on the bright side, more messes means more getting to know your kids better!