Candy covered paradise??

Why does the life of wife and mother have to mean that my stuff is in worse condition, my clothes have stains, and my car is dirty inside and out and I have to be willing to share EVERYTHING that I have. And of course nothing looks as fun, intresting, or as yummy as it does when Momma has it.

Everything that belongs to me is sticky, if it’s not sticky it’s covered in some sort of ‘fuzz’ because at one point it WAS sticky. I go to get Cheetah out of the car seat and the seatbelt is sticky, the carseat is sticky, Cheetah is sticky! My hands are now sticky, oh crap gotta grab my purse…now the purse is sticky! (Repeating to myself, “Do NOT run your fingers through your hair until you wash them!”) I am pretty sure when I signed up for this whole ‘motherhood thing’ there was no clause or fine print that mentioned anything about my new found candy covered paradise. I see other mother's walking around and they aren't breaking a sweat, don't have crazy eyes, or stringy hair; they actually look pretty cute in their capris with matching tops, perfectly pedicured toes, and 'just so' hair do's.

As I walked dowtown feeling a little worse for wear and out of breath I wondered, did I miss the training? Was their some sort of 'super mom 101' at the hospital and I missed the announcement? Most days I feel accomplished when I make it to work on time, dropped Cheetah off (with all his belongings) and I remembered to pick up my lunch from the kitchen counter. I need better goals!

I really kinda feel sorry for all those celebrities that have to deal with the sticky hands, belongings, and purses...they have to be beautiful, AND smile for the cameras.

Got Fairies?

So the elusive pull-up (plus the other two from the rest of the week) finally made it’s way into the garbage yesterday, yes that means it was on my living room floor for an additional 5 days. I had to mention, “Hey Tarzan, what’s the story with those pull-ups” he reposnded with the usual, “I keep meaning to throw them away.” Really? I don’t get it. I am gone all weekend and come home late Sunday afternoon and he has been home since lunch. Nothing had been done, he wasn’t even washing HIS clothes for the week. So how exactly do I get to where he is now?? How do I become comfortable with sitting around when there is stuff to be done. He says men are made differently and he just doesn’t SEE what I see.

I take it personal, I feel somehow disrespected because he doesn’t WANT to help me with what needs to be done. Look, I know what needs to be done sucks, hell I don’t want to do it either! I wonder do all women take things this seriously? Why is it a real offense to have to ASK for help with the things he sees me do EVERY day? Why does it feel like he cares for me less because he has to be TOLD what to do around the house and doesn’t just SEE it? Does he not notice what gets done or does he think that I have some magic ‘woman spell’ I cast and the little fairies come out of the woodwork and tidy our world up?

The elusive Pull-Up

Well things are off to a good start. The dishwasher is going and the kitchen is clean. We had a night full of PB&Js and popcorn, Cheetah schooled me in the joys of eating popcorn. Apparently you HAVE to eat in the dark while watching t.v. Who knew?

So let's cut to the chase. There's this pull-up (used, gross) lying in the floor of my living room. I didn't leave it there, I just want to clarify. Tarzan can remember that every Wednesday is 'boy's night' but the urine soaked pull-up eludes him?? Even though the thought of said pull-up makes me want to vomit, there it sits. It has ran me out of the living room, I am trying to get wrapped up in a book and forget the dirty pull-up and pajamas in my living room. Did I forget to mention the pajamas?? :)

What will happen if I don't do it?

Since the dawn of man, I am pretty sure that all women have had a similar thought run through their heads, “What WILL happen if I don’t do it?” Out of frustration, need, or the desperate thought that it all HAS to get done we stay up late, skip out on relaxing, and skimp on together time with our families to try to make everything run more smoothly. So, out of desperation I have decided to turn my life into an experiment. I am going to attempt to ignore the call of the chores with an immediate chore session and give Tarzan and Cheetah the chance to help out.

I will see exactly what will happen if I don’t take out the garbage, don’t wash clothes, don’t cook supper, and don’t clean house. Will all the chores get done by that magic 'chore fairy' that has boycotted my house in the past? Maybe I’ll learn to let things slide, maybe I can learn why I feel the need to ‘do’ so much, maybe I'll learn not to feel guilty when things get left alone, or maybe I’ll just learn how to ignore that terrible sigh that Tarzan lets out when I ask him to help out.

Will the same chores get done, will there be a redistribution of labor around the house or will we end up being inspected by family services??