My housekeeping skills have taken a hit lately. And by lately, I mean since my first child was born over 8 years ago. And the subsequent adding of children has only made matters worse.
A friend e-mailed me the other day because I’m looking into some new curriculum, and she graciously offered to let me stop by and look at hers, as long as I didn’t take notice of her house in disarray.
She has 6 children. Like that’s an excuse.
I e-mailed her back, informing her that if she were to ever stop by my house, she would be able to eat off the floors. (snap)
BECAUSE THERE’S AT LEAST A TWO COURSE MEAL STUCK TO MY CHEAP LINOLEUM.
Plus 4 Cheetos and some petrified play dough.
So. I’ve begun delegating housework to the children. It is my master plan that in the near future, I will be lounging on my couch, eating bonbons, and asking the servants children to fetch me my Metamucil.
I’m starting small. They inherited my housekeeping genes after all. Both girls have to make their own beds. Which seems simple enough. But my Cailey loses focus easily.
I asked her the other morning if she had made her bed. She covered her mouth and giggled, “Go see Mom.”
This is what greeted me at her door.
Shaking my head I wandered into the kitchen, where Emme was making her own breakfast.
Tomorrow, lessons begin on “how to clean a toilet.”
I’m hiding my toothbrush.