When my kids grow up and move out, I am going to have to get a J.O.B. I'll tell you why. I woke up this morning to silence. That's nothing new, since without my hearing aids I'm deaf as a teenangster listening to her parents, but there really was silence; it wasn't just me. No kids. Hallelujer, as Madea says.
First, I let the dogs out and fed the horses. Then I sat down and got dibs on my own laptop. What a novelty. Not one whiney kid asking how much longer 'til they could play Toon Town, Avengers, or Facebook. Now, I'll never admit this to them, but it takes some of the fun out of having the computer when I'm not keeping it from them. Kind of like sneaking into bars before you're 21 being so much more fun than once it's legal. Not that I'm admitting to that either. But the experience was a little flat.
Next thing you know, I up and decided to clean the bathrooms. Now that, my friends, is something I hope to never get a wild hair to do again. Not a good move on my part. Nasty. The kids are supposed to clean their own bathrooms upstairs, but I figured I'd go ahead and give them a lick and polish. (Not a good thought, licking those toilets. I need that thought out of my head. Ick ick ick.)
My bathroom is huge. Jacuzzi tub. Four girls - FOUR - took a bath (with swimsuits because we're not exhibitionists. Please.) on Sunday night in it. They must have had bubbles to the twelve foot ceiling, because scum was everywhere. I climbed in, my reindeer jammie pants (they were on sale for $5!) rolled up and sprayed scrubbing bubbles everywhere. Ev-er-y-where. This was my problem, you see, because I had not thought this through. I had neglected to bring a cloth or sponge with me, intending to let them sit for a bit while I did the sink and shower. I was going to climb out, but have you ever tried climbing out of a three-and-a-half foot tub that's covered in slime?
After I scrubbed the tub with my body, I moved on to the rest of the room, which I'm happy to announce was much easier, as was the guest bathroom.
All the was left was the upstairs bathrooms. I must admit to dreading them. Kids are notoriously nasty creatures. I've learned this in my nineteen years of experience as the mother of four. I decided to spray the boy bathroom down first, thinking it would need some time to allow the bubbles to do their magic. Upon entering the room, I realized that since Chad has moved out: #1. It has a floor, and #2. Pierson has kept it clean. He has only neglected the toilet, which I can understand because really, aren't toilets supposed to be icky by definition?, and the ring in the tub. I sprayed it and went to the girls bathrooms. Their bathroom was just shy of pristine.
I was somewhat disconcerted to realize that my children have been doing a better job than I have of cleaning their bathrooms. I promised myself to either do better or add my bathroom on to their chore list, and got to work. Within minutes I was back in Pierson's bathroom, and that's when I learned...
Boy dirt is not the same as girl dirt. Boy dirt does not come off. That ring in the tub is there to stay. I scrubbed, I sprayed some more, I changed cleaners. Nothing, except maybe the dirt grew. I'm giving up, assuming that at least, it's clean dirt, right? Dirt can be clean, and if I can't get it off with cleaners, he can't get it on him in the tub. I hope.
Maybe I can just paint over the dirt. Oh, who cares? He's a twelve year old boy. It's not like he bathes anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment