I Wish It Was a School Day, That Would Be My Funday, My I Don't Have to Runday
Monday is our cleaning day. Anybody who’s ever seen our home may be surprised to learn that’s what it looks like in spite of a weekly cleaning.
Every Monday, I pick everything off the carpet. Clothes go in drawers, toys go in boxes, trash goes in the trash, and the stuff I don’t know what to do with gets compacted against the wall. Then I vacuum the dirt, food crumbs, and pet hair off the floor. The carefully stacked clutter layers covering all horizontal surfaces go mostly untouched until I get a little more free time, likely when the boys head to kindergarten. The cleaning isn’t very deep, but it at least clears a path for moving between rooms.
I do this cleaning twice a week, but Monday is the heavy-duty day. That’s the day after the weekend, when guests spend two days tramping in dirt and disturbing my clutter layers. I do a similar cleaning on Thursday, but that’s less intense since my inability to leave the house mid-week keeps the outside world’s grime on the outside.
Since my parents visited last weekend, I had an extra dose of dirt covering the carpet as they tracked in foreign filth from a completely different corner of the state. Plus, they were too busy playing with the grandkids to notice that they’d* pulled every toy from their toy box, not to mention every toy-like object within reach from our clutter layers, and left them on the floor. Our home needed a good, thorough cleaning; the best job I could do in the 45 minutes between completing the morning dishes and starting the naptime routine. Too bad I couldn’t stay home.
As I finished the morning dishes, I took a phone call from the HVAC technician we called earlier. We recently bought a house, and are in the process of doing some minor renovations to correct the previous owner’s renovations before we move. One of those renovations involves getting the furnace in good working order, as opposed to its current adequacy.
The HVAC technician wanted to work on it yesterday morning, so I needed to meet him at the house, effectively trapping me at the house for the morning to dream about our beautiful new home instead of cleaning up our hideous old one. I decided to make a day of our outing, giving the boys their morning nap up there, and stopping at the mall for a couple necessities and a trip to their playground on the way home.
I packed a lunch, and met the HVAC technician at the house. He went to work while I entertained the kids, and left right before naptime. I thanked him, and enjoyed our freshly flowing warm air as I set the boys down to sleep. Abbie and I spent naptime in the living room dream of our future in our beautiful new home.
After about a half hour of listening to the boys scream as they refused to nap in their beautiful new room, I noticed our air wasn’t flowing warm anymore. Whatever the technician did to cajole our furnace into pumping out hot air had worn off. I sighed, grabbed the boys for lunch, and prepared for the mall.
I needed two things at the mall: A battery for my new garage door opener that was probably as old as the house, and a new pair of sunglasses to replace the ones I’d sat on. Our mall-based big box store should have both, leaving us with plenty of time for the playground.
They didn’t have the battery I needed. They did have acceptable sunglasses, which we took to the checkout lanes. As we stood in the express lane waiting for the woman ahead of us to pay with exact change, Abbie did her best to escape to another lane. I held her hand tightly, and when twisting and spinning couldn’t loose her, she tried scratching. When I grabbed both hands, she tried biting. When I picked her up to warn her that we’d leave without going to the playground if she didn’t behave, she bit me again.
Being a responsible parent who uses punishments that are fair, consistent, and effective, I kept my word and we walked to the car after paying for my sunglasses. Abbie giggled in the sun and fresh air, suggesting my punishment wasn’t as deeply affecting as I’d hoped.
I packed the kids into the car, and slipped on my sunglasses for the drive home. That’s when I first noticed that one of the lenses was cracked.
The furnace still didn’t work, my new sunglasses were broken, the garage door opener still needed a battery, we never made it to the playground, and our home was still a mess. The day would’ve been a total waste if not for the Shamrock Shake I picked up on the way home despite the late date.
Today has been a do over. I went out and accomplished everything I meant to do yesterday. Except for the battery; that’ll have to wait until I can go to another store. And the vacuuming; that I’ll do tomorrow.
* “They” here refers to the grandkids, though the grandparents helped access a few things.
Every Monday, I pick everything off the carpet. Clothes go in drawers, toys go in boxes, trash goes in the trash, and the stuff I don’t know what to do with gets compacted against the wall. Then I vacuum the dirt, food crumbs, and pet hair off the floor. The carefully stacked clutter layers covering all horizontal surfaces go mostly untouched until I get a little more free time, likely when the boys head to kindergarten. The cleaning isn’t very deep, but it at least clears a path for moving between rooms.
I do this cleaning twice a week, but Monday is the heavy-duty day. That’s the day after the weekend, when guests spend two days tramping in dirt and disturbing my clutter layers. I do a similar cleaning on Thursday, but that’s less intense since my inability to leave the house mid-week keeps the outside world’s grime on the outside.
Since my parents visited last weekend, I had an extra dose of dirt covering the carpet as they tracked in foreign filth from a completely different corner of the state. Plus, they were too busy playing with the grandkids to notice that they’d* pulled every toy from their toy box, not to mention every toy-like object within reach from our clutter layers, and left them on the floor. Our home needed a good, thorough cleaning; the best job I could do in the 45 minutes between completing the morning dishes and starting the naptime routine. Too bad I couldn’t stay home.
As I finished the morning dishes, I took a phone call from the HVAC technician we called earlier. We recently bought a house, and are in the process of doing some minor renovations to correct the previous owner’s renovations before we move. One of those renovations involves getting the furnace in good working order, as opposed to its current adequacy.
The HVAC technician wanted to work on it yesterday morning, so I needed to meet him at the house, effectively trapping me at the house for the morning to dream about our beautiful new home instead of cleaning up our hideous old one. I decided to make a day of our outing, giving the boys their morning nap up there, and stopping at the mall for a couple necessities and a trip to their playground on the way home.
I packed a lunch, and met the HVAC technician at the house. He went to work while I entertained the kids, and left right before naptime. I thanked him, and enjoyed our freshly flowing warm air as I set the boys down to sleep. Abbie and I spent naptime in the living room dream of our future in our beautiful new home.
After about a half hour of listening to the boys scream as they refused to nap in their beautiful new room, I noticed our air wasn’t flowing warm anymore. Whatever the technician did to cajole our furnace into pumping out hot air had worn off. I sighed, grabbed the boys for lunch, and prepared for the mall.
I needed two things at the mall: A battery for my new garage door opener that was probably as old as the house, and a new pair of sunglasses to replace the ones I’d sat on. Our mall-based big box store should have both, leaving us with plenty of time for the playground.
They didn’t have the battery I needed. They did have acceptable sunglasses, which we took to the checkout lanes. As we stood in the express lane waiting for the woman ahead of us to pay with exact change, Abbie did her best to escape to another lane. I held her hand tightly, and when twisting and spinning couldn’t loose her, she tried scratching. When I grabbed both hands, she tried biting. When I picked her up to warn her that we’d leave without going to the playground if she didn’t behave, she bit me again.
Being a responsible parent who uses punishments that are fair, consistent, and effective, I kept my word and we walked to the car after paying for my sunglasses. Abbie giggled in the sun and fresh air, suggesting my punishment wasn’t as deeply affecting as I’d hoped.
I packed the kids into the car, and slipped on my sunglasses for the drive home. That’s when I first noticed that one of the lenses was cracked.
The furnace still didn’t work, my new sunglasses were broken, the garage door opener still needed a battery, we never made it to the playground, and our home was still a mess. The day would’ve been a total waste if not for the Shamrock Shake I picked up on the way home despite the late date.
Today has been a do over. I went out and accomplished everything I meant to do yesterday. Except for the battery; that’ll have to wait until I can go to another store. And the vacuuming; that I’ll do tomorrow.
* “They” here refers to the grandkids, though the grandparents helped access a few things.
posted by Matt at
11:25 PM
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