Anyone who makes me get the mop out before 8 am is officially in TIME-OUT!

People are messy. Kids are messier. In the course of cleaning a child up, another large mess is made. Example: bath time – in my house – every night! It’s inevitable that there will be spills and falls, sticky messes, muddy messes, bloody messes. The very thought of all the cleaning is exhausting. You clean the sink – 10 minutes later someone leaves a glob of toothpaste or a big, green boog smack dab in the middle of your cloroxed beauty. You mop the floor – a dog and three boys pounce through with muddy feet, only to turn around and head back outside. Why did you come inside in the FIRST PLACE! You do the dishes – the dishes get used, you DO THEM AGAIN! You do the laundry (you even FOLD the laundry) – the kids decide they want to play race car in the basket and dump the laundry, and then the dog throws up on it. It’s terrible that I could go on and on forever. It’s so damn tired it’s just aggravating. And yet, it just needs to be done. It’s just part of life. Life is messy. My life is messy. My boys are messy (4 of em including Dan the Man). Shit, I’m messy too. I try to be neat, but only really on days when I think anyone would care, or if I’m trying to rein in that chaotic feeling that comes on when I realize that this rhino ride I’m on isn’t ending ANY TIME SOON. In fact, as the boys get older I’m afraid it will just get harder. And busier. Louder. And messier!

So I clean the floors and do the laundry. Get to the bathrooms when I can or if my mother is coming to visit. I do the dishes and scrub behind their ears – or at the very least I throw them in the shower for a hose down. We do what needs to be done because there is no one else to do it. No one else who keeps it all catalogued in their brain as the Things That Need To Get Done. I’ve mentioned this list before, if briefly – the running list.

All the generalizations aside, anyone who makes me get the mop out before 8 am is officially in time out, and has started the day on mommy’s shit list. Max was that man this morning. Threw his full-to-the-brim cup of apple juice onto the kitchen floor SO INTENTIONALLY. And… I was not amused. Nor upset, really. I calmly picked him up and brought him to the dining room so I could put him on lock down in the booster seat. He screamed NO BUCKLE as I quietly struggled with him TO BUCKLE. Finally I wedge my foot between his legs and pushed down as hard as I had to in order for him to sit back and stay back while I clipped the buckle.

And then I walked away and I mopped. 7:28 am. Barf!

He screamed. I mopped. Not a stitch of anger in me at that moment. It was just so clear to me that there are some things, some messes, some problems that are just NOT Acceptable. And if YOU CHILDREN do them and cross that line, Mommy will NOT be upset, will NOT scream, will NOT shake her head and say things like, “I’m so disappointed in you.” No, No, it will be worse. You will see me completely unaffected. No change in tone or decibel. No outward signs of dismay. Instead, I will punish you as you ought to be punished for the crime you have committed. And then I will gladly go about my business, not for one minute feeling a shred of guilt or sadness at your glum faces and drippy eyes. Sorry, Charlie. Momma don’t play that game. Some rules CAN’T be broken. And forcing the mop into my hand at 7:28 am is one of those times Momma Ain’t Got No Sympathy!