This weekend, I planned to spend about an hour Spring-cleaning the heathens’ room. I figured an hour would be plenty of time to clean out their drawers, sort the clothes and decide what to donate to Goodwill, and do a general spruce-up of the boy-cave.
Clearly, I am sad and deluded, and operating in my own reality that has nothing to do with sanity and rationality.
Three hours, 247 heavy sighs, 15 good screeches that only the dolphins could hear, more swear words than I will admit to, and I finally emerged from that project with a serious case of OCD meets faux-PTSD.
Like the idiot that I am, I decided to clean under their bed.
I found, among other things, 5 diet coke cans, 27 Starburst wrappers, numerous M&M’s, dust bunnies the size of Texas, enough Lego’s and Magnetex toys for a small country, batteries, an assortment of Happy Meal toys and some things that I don’t even want to try and identify.
My vacuum is whimpering and I’ve run out of cleaning products.
And as my kids will tell ya, I’ve redefined “shock and awe.”