Monday, October 4, 2010

Spreading it Around

Like I've mentioned before, I don't make chore charts for our kids. You'd think that the genuine happiness I derive from being organized and my love of making lists would result in an affection for chore charts, but that would be wrong. Sitting down to make a chore chart would just be another chore, and the time spent A) creating the chart; B) color-coding the thing; C) coming up with chores (I know there are plenty of chores to choose from, but I need to think of ones that I don't care how they're done because after all, it's the kids doing them, not me) and then D) making sure that everyone was doing what they are supposed to, is time that I could have just done the stupid chores myself. In addition, I'm able to complete the chores nag-free, do a much better job and be done in a fraction of the time that it would have taken them, only letting out an occasional sigh or glare of frustration because no one is helping me.

Oh the joys of being a martyr.

Yesterday was one of those days that I never stopped moving and everyone was smart enough to pretty much just stay out of my way. Bathrooms were de-gunked, floors were vacuumed, baseboards were scrubbed and cobwebs that had not even formed yet were abolished. In addition, because I was washing every piece of bedding in the house, I made about 1,832 trips up and down the stairs while hauling comforters, pillows, blankets and sheets.

Because I didn't want to make trip #1,833, I asked Zach to bring one last blanket up to his room. It was fresh from the dryer, folded, and had been placed right next to him on the couch with the simple request of "please go put this in your room."

"Oh. Kay." was the reply, but with a very detectable hint of gruntish caveman accent. And then not only did he not spring to his feet, grab the blanket and bound up the stairs two at a time with a sure mom, and thanks for doing all that laundry, but he sat there, staring at his iPhone, continuing on his quest to make a permanent butt dent in the couch cushion.

Three hours later, the blanket was still sitting on the couch untouched, unless you want to count the fact that it had been briefly used for his feet. I think what happened next included hissed phrases like "thanks a lot for a whole bunch of nothing" and "oh that's okay, it's not like I've been doing anything for you today, don't feel like you need to do something to help me out" as I snatched the blanket off the couch and threw it on his bed, resisting the urge to sneeze on it and/or wipe the dog's butt with it.

Zoe, however, was more than happy to help out. While I was in her room (which was completely picked up) I found a white microfiber rag on the floor. When I asked her what it was for, she said "I saw you cleaning, so I thought I'd help out by dusting all the tables and door knobs." Yay for the creation of one helpful kid! This is completely kick ass! Soon enough she'll be scrubbing soap scum, washing the hardwood floors and...wait a second... is that orange trim on that microfiber rag? Zoe, where did you find that rag?

"It was on that bench, by the front door. It works really good, after I got the little pieces of grass off of it. You can have it now, though, cuz I did all the tables and stuff."

Our new puppy, Danger, has the cutest paws -- kind of chunky and covered in wispy curls of cream colored dog hair. Since Danger is in turbo house training mode, he goes outside, on average, 382 times a day. Sometimes he goes out, does his business, and then heads right back in. Most of the time, though, the business is preceded and followed up by mad dashes back and forth through the wet grass and leaves, occasionally running through the spot where he just peed, sufficiently coating his cute paws with not-so-cute goo. Also, because we have a boy dog, there is the um, issue.

Let's see, how can I put this... You know how when you turn a faucet off there's often one last drop of water stuck to the end? And then if you were to touch the end of the faucet (often not intentionally) that small drop of water ends up on your hand? Well, Danger is the owner of a faucet. Except his faucet also has a little tuft of hair on the end.

Because I hate having wet, grass-covered puppy paws running through the house, and because I really don't enjoy having dog pee on my hands, I keep a microfiber rag by the front door for paw and faucet wiping purposes. An orange-trimmed, white microfiber rag.

And now, in addition to paw and faucet wiping, I can add table and door knob cleaning to that list.

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