Kiddy Litter

Deep in my heart and actually just at the level of consciousness in my mind, I know that when my children are gone, I will miss the signs of their presence in my home.  Mothers of grown children wax poetic about wishing little fingerprints still smudged the walls.  I try to remember this as I emit a growl when spotting chocolate spots about the height of Anna right below the light switch in the dining room.  Surely those mamas mean that they miss the kids making those prints, not that they wished they would have left 15 year old chocolate smears on the walls.

My house is relatively clean.  As in, not as clean as my mother's, but not a health hazard.  There are things I am diligent about, and other chores I loathe so much that I get around to only every so often.  Some Most chores are infuriating because they get undone immediately after you do them. 

I have darling little reminders of my children here and there: their artwork is on the refrigerator, on end tables and bookshelves, etc. Their constant leaving of books and magazines everywhere doesn't bother me.  There are a few things, however, that I try very hard not to turn into a wicked witch over.

Hair things.  My girls have an abundance of hair - Molly especially.  That girl has tons of hair.  And hair things.  Anna hates hair things.  I really loathe finding little barrettes and rubberbands and headbands tucked behind the computer, dropped in the hall, under a couch cushion, on the floor of the car, and WORST of all on the kitchen table.  Hair things just gross me out.  When I see little hair things left about my brain instantly conjures images of parking garage stairwells and subway car floors.  Hair things left where they should not be are never artfully discarded.  They simply suggest ultimate uncleanliness.  I didn't say these pet peeves of mine were rational.

Leaving dirty dishes out. It is not that difficult to put things in the sink.  It's right there.  You don't even have to open it like the dishwasher.  This goes hand in hand with cabinets/closets left open in the "what's so difficult about this" category.  How hard is it to push back on a cabinet door? Dirty clothes - why is it easier to shove them in the back of your closet than throw them in the hamper?

Old balloons.  They float around like demon possessed ghosts and stick around for forever.  They are not even played with past the first minute they are home.  They are a waste.  "Happy meal" toys are in the same category I should entitle "junky free food establishment giveaways." What mean mom says "No you cannot have a balloon" when 10 other kids are sporting one tied to their wrist? Or instructs that cheap toys do not leave the restaurant?  Me. Sometimes. On the way back from DC I dropped the kids' meal toy that came in Anna's lunch bag as I was trying to throw it away.  A nice man said, "Oh, you dropped this - someone will be looking for that!" And me the wicked witch said, "Thank you - but I actually was trying to get rid of it."  He looked a little bewildered.  And of the age that his children probably were out of the house or didn't get kids' meals anymore.

The dog's toys.  They are technically reminders that I have a dog, not children. But Biscuit cannot put his own toys away.  He usually doesn't get them out either.  The kids get them out, play with him for 5 minutes tops, and then run upstairs and leave dog toys all over the floors to be tripped over.

Easter grass. Why do I always forget how awful that stuff is? Most years I shun it.  Every once in awhile I get sucked in by the shiny translucent kind and immediately regret it. If Easter bunnies are stuffed with Easter grass, then my house looks as if Biscuit got a hold of a few around here.

There is plenty of other kid evidence: cd's around the computer, backpacks left directly in front of the door, toothpaste left with the cap off, crayons that didn't make it to the box, scooters left next to the driveway, wrappers left in the car - things that barely register as complaints until I sit down and intentionally observe them. 

I know full well that I will be telling some young mother some day to not sweat this stuff.  The artwork on the fridge, the dinnertime recollections of the day's events, the snuggles in the morning, the bedtime stories, and the general privilege of watching children grow - it all casts an opaque shadow over the other stuff. Sometimes, I just get stuck under the shadow.