Housekeeping

When attempting to mop a floor with two eager helpers, four dirty feet and one little injury prone rugrat ready clinging to your heels--it is difficult to contemplate the purpose of housekeeping.  Am I doing this to teach them how to clean?  That it's important to clean? To help them feel the joy of a household in order? Or simply so I don't go crazy looking through piles of clothes for one white undershirt. Probably all of the above.

But really, when JJ tipped over his cup of milk moments after tromping through the kitchen with little black footprints, it's no wonder I growled a little bit. (And it's no wonder why JJ growls whenever he's frustrated.) That sweet jiggy JJ.  I can still hear the echo of his "I'm sorry mom, I'm sorry," in the back of my mind.  My patience stretches and I feel like overlooking all the dust and dirt plastered on the silly floor.  And when I look at Davey's vertical line-shaped bruise on his face, I never want to put him down to pick up a mop again. 

But Aaron's know-it-all excitement redeems my motivation.  "I can do it mom, I know how! It's my turn mom.  I already know how to do it!"  It's then that I begin to fantasize about my three boys doing all my housework for me.  Yah yah, I know...in my dreams--but it was enough to get me through today: scrubbing the tub, bleaching the toilets, folding and putting away mountains of laundry and all.

That, and hearing Aaron say, "MOM! it smeels sooooo clean in here!" while he sat on the pot tonight.  I guess it wasn't a waste of time after all.