The kids and I played the game of Life this weekend. My daughter was the banker, my son was the real estate agent, I was the only one who bothered to go to college and I beat them by over $1 million. I probably rubbed that lesson in a little too much.
The point is, it got me thinking. Each of them kept waving their money around saying what they would do with it if it were real. When they asked me what I would do with my millions, the answer was obvious… hire someone to clean this house.
I’m happy to clean it. Well, let’s be honest… I’m not happy to do it, but I’m grateful for all I have and the fact that I am able to do it. With that said, most of the messes I am cleaning up have little to do with me. Most of the messes I am cleaning up are created by the adorable little angels that live here with me.
I’ll claim some of it – the coffee cups, the dishes in the sink that need to “soak” overnight, the laundry hanging from the curtain rod that’s been dry for 2 days, things like that.
But the unidentifiable stickiness on the island where the kids eat, not mine. The same kind of spots on the coffee table, also not mine.
The clothes on the floor that trail from the front door all the way through the house, and eventually land on the floor BESIDE the hamper (that one sends me into my Cruella de Vil alter ego), not mine.
The tiny feet puncturing devices known as Lego pieces that are E.V.E.R.Y.W.E.R.E., not mine. I found one in the silverware drawer the other day… what?!
The ripped tops from the tubes of Gogurt, not mine. This one is a balancing act, especially with my son, because the little doll is such a picky eater. I need him to keep eating the yogurt, but I also need to stop finding them on the end table for my sanity. It’s a toss up which will go first.
And, of course, the devil’s own creation, the Pokemon cards. Definitely not mine. I find them in the most random places, it’s like pulling a rabbit out of my hat. There are hundreds of them and I swear my children know each one by name. But ask them what they did at school that day… “I don’t know”.
So, if you could refer me to someone with the tricks of Mary Poppins, the disinfecting joy of Mr. Clean and the sarcasm of Mrs. Doubtfire, who accepts Life/Monopoly money and wouldn’t mind rubbing the knots out of my shoulders every night – I would really appreciate it.