I don't expect the other people that live here to dust and mop and scrub toilets (ick). I'll take those responsibilities. But as I was walking around picking up random items that trailed through every single room in the house, I felt myself getting a teeny weeny bit pissed. I mean, how hard is it to pick up socks from the living room and take them to the hamper? Apparently it's harder than I think.
I sent Charming a text that said, "Honey, I would really appreciate it if you and the kids would take your items upstairs instead of leaving them on the floor in the living room. Love you! Kisses and hugs."
As if. Are you new here? The real text was more like, "Could you people cut me a break and start picking up your shit?"
He responded with something along the lines of "Yeah, sure. You should probably blog about it. Take out your frustrations through writing."
Well. Okay then. Your wish is my command.
Since it is a constant battle of who can say the most words in a 24 hour period around my house, I decided the most effective way to express my feelings on this issue would be to write my family a letter. This also means less yelling.
I know I have somehow led you all to believe that I love cleaning. I mean, with your constant mess making and refusal to pick up after yourselves, what other explanation could there be? I feel sure the reason isn't because you are working together on an elaborate plot to make me lose my mind.
Regardless of what you choose to believe, the truth of the matter is...I actually hate cleaning. I get absolutely no joy from any of the arduous tasks required to prevent our home from being condemned. It is, however, a necessity. So I do it. All I ask is that you respect my efforts for AT LEAST 24 hours post cleaning. Is that really too much to ask?
I feel like you don't quite understand how your casual disregard for the hours (literally HOURS) of hard work this takes makes me feel. So, let me break it down for you.
Dimples: I know how much you enjoy playing Nerf gun wars and 52 million card pick up with Daddy. But when I start to clean up and I find Nerf darts stuck on the ceiling fans and 51 million of those cards scattered around the house, I get a little upset. Imagine working on the Lego Death Star all day long, then someone coming in behind you and disassembling it. That wouldn't make you very happy would it? No. No, it wouldn't.
Tink: I recognize you have a passion for trying new hairstyles. I encourage you to work on that skill. However, when I clean the floors and run over 27 hairpins at once, it tends to do a number on the vacuum cleaner. There is usually a really loud noise and a giant puff of smoke. I don't much like that as it is quite startling. When you are using the blow drying on your ever so shiny and luxurious hair, would you like it if a giant puff of smoke suddenly shot out of it and scared the bejesus out of you? No. No, you wouldn't.
Charming: You knew me long before you popped the question, but sometimes I feel like you've forgotten that you married a crazy person. *Any and all accusations that I turned crazy after the "I do's" were said are herby denied.* You know that I have the ability to go from zero to apeshit bananas in a matter of seconds. So I must ask...WHY do you insist on leaving York Peppermint Patty wrappers on every table/countertop/nightstand in our home? When I work all day to clean this place and I find those things wadded up all over the house the very next day, I feel like you are less than appreciative of my efforts. I see you're working on a big presentation there. How about when you get up to go to the bathroom I just mosey on over and delete all of that hard work. Would you like that? No. No, you wouldn't.
Do any of these examples help you understand a little bit about where I'm coming from? While I'm sure your only motive is to make sure I don't get bored during the day, I'm going to have to kindly ask that you please stop worrying your pretty little heads about me and PICK UP YOUR SHIT.
With Nothing But Love (and maybe a little irritation),
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