Sunday, April 8, 2012
My girls hid about 70 eggs on Saturday. I think we found 60. I'm hoping those last ten are the plastic kind. The last thing I need is a rotting egg hidden in a couch or a corner somewhere.
In a house with so many kids, the gross factor can get out of hand. It doesn't help that I'm a lousy housekeeper. It also doesn't help that boys under the age of, oh, 20, can't seem to hit a target that's as big as a toilet seat. No, wait, they can hit the seat, just not the hole in the middle of it.
I swore to them last week that I was never buying crackers again. It doesn't matter how many times I tell them, the Cheezits always end up in a heap on the family room floor. I need to train the dog to eat Cheezits. I don't know why he doesn't. He'll eat some really disgusting stuff. And we won't mention some of the things he licks.
We were sitting tonight and watching Amazing Race. I was cheering for the border patrol guys when I got a whiff. Oh, man. What in the world? No, it wasn't a stray Easter egg. It was a pair of shoes. Boy shoes. If our country needs a new chemical weapon, I could donate my son's shoes. No way the Taliban could live in their caves with a pair of our tennies.
I'm very lucky that my husband is so handy. He can fix most things around the house. Like the shower drain. My daughter's hair is about 20 inches long. Do you know what happens when that kind of hair is washed? It doesn't take long for the drain to slow. Then, the Handy Man has to go in and clean it out. He usually asks if I want to see the clog. Blech. No. My imagination is sufficient, thank you very much.
If I ever make the big bucks, I won't hire a housekeeper. (I'd be so embarrassed.) But, I might hire someone to empty the garbage. Seriously, no one else seems to care. They will pile on wrappers and milk jugs and empty Cup-o-Soups. If they took a little of the energy it takes to try and balance the garbage and used it to actually take it outside, my life would be so much easier.
I thought once I got past the dirty diaper and spitting up phase of my life, things would get less gross. So very wrong.
(photos courtesy of morguefile.com)