Generally, I'm a pretty easy-going mom. Sure, I get frustrated with the dirty clothes on the floor and the dirty dishes left on the counter, and we're not even going to talk about what the girls bathroom looks like! While I tidy up, I mutter under my breath about wondering who taught them to live like such slobs and why their parents put up with this mess. Almost always, though, I am grateful that they still live at home, that they still LIKE living at home, and that they still like me!
I'm not a perfectionist. At least not when it comes to my house. It's clean enough to be healthy and messy enough to feel comfortable. None of that "so clean you're afraid to touch anything" stuff at my house! Some of it comes from living with 6 or 7 other people--while I can control what I do with my stuff, I have very little over what others do with their stuff. Or with my stuff!! Consequently, many areas in our house suffer from the 'horizontal surface syndrome,' which means they are typically covered in "important things" like papers and ziploc bags full of pencil sharpener shavings and leaves and yesterday's books that didn't get put away, last week's chemistry quiz that needs to be reviewed for the next test ("Oh, wait! I already had that test!!"), the remnants of an art project from Sunday School, hearing aids and their batteries, magazines, movies, and anything else that will fit on a table or a shelf or a counter. Sigh. Yep...most of the time my house is clean but not necessarily tidy. Sometimes it's quite tidy, but not necessarily very clean. And I'm okay with it. Most of the time.....
So what is it that really gets me? I mean REALLY gets me? Like sends me around the bend? How about this:
Don't recognize it? Well, then, try this:
Yes, one small ball of this horribly nasty stuff can make my blood pressure skyrocket! (And that says a LOT, since I usually run something like 82/60...) It seems that no matter who brings it home, they cannot remember the simple rule: NO PLAYDOH IN THE HOUSE. Then we end up with the lovely stuff all over the entire place. Every square foot. Behind chairs and under tables, on the floor and the wall, squished into the carpets. UGH. Yesterday, unbeknownst to me, Logan brought home a small bag of playdoh from school. He got it out this morning while I was doing dishes. Before I had a chance to remind him that he needed to play with it outside, there were clumps ALL OVER. (Yes, he had help!) I vacuumed the breakfast nook twice and I'm still finding playdoh on the floor. It was in the bathroom. At the front door. On the stairwell. Smashed on all the kitchen chairs, and ground into the living room carpet. Somehow, I suspect that this latest round of playdoh will be with us for a while, even though the bag 'accidently' found a new home in the trash can.
I know, I know. Playdoh's good for fine motor skills. Great actually. That's delightful. I'm happy to let them develop their fine motor skills with playdoh...as long as it's somewhere else. Church is good. Therapy too. A friend's house? Works for me. Just NOT HERE!
Fortunately, the day is over and almost all the playdoh is gone. Tomorrow, the easy-going Mom who lives here will return. And if she's lucky, there won't be any more playdoh on the floors.