How the Mighty have Fallen

Many who know me know that I am a neat and organized person.  Clutter and dirt cause me pain and I have been know to go into crazy woman mode yelling at members of my household because things are not put away or they have tracked some unidentifiable gunk into my home.  And oh, yes it is my home.  The one who cleans it, is the one who owns it.  No matter what the law says. 

Alot of this stems from my father’s side of the family, especially my grandmother and father.  I would say that my father is the cleanest person I know.  If you ever just drop by his home, where he lives with his wife (Paulette) and 12 year old daugther, you will not find any disarray.  Everything will be in it’s place, dishes will be washed as soon as they are used and every surface wiped sparkling clean.  I think when he gets old and senile, I will let him live with me only as my personal slave that will do all my cleaning.  I am sure there will be some negotiating on price with Paulette, but I am sure she can be bought.  Besides, I think we can work out a deal to send him back for cleaning duty at her house on weekends. 

My grandmother was a fanatic about cleaning.  I don’t know if it was germs or her energetic personality.  The woman never stopped moving.  If there was light in the day then there was stuff to be done.  Although, she was kind of a hoarder.  The woman had butter containers everywhere and mounds of stuff everywhere, but it was neat, clean and put in it’s place.  If Al Gore wants to know about recycling, he needed to talk to my grandmother.  I don’t think that woman threw anything out and she used it all.  Be careful, don’t pull that maragine container out expecting maragine, you may get scraps for the animals, frozen cookies or leftovers from the night before.  If you are looking for the maragine it will be in the mayo jar.  Those crazy Depression Era babies. 

However, sometimes one must fight their natural tendencies or one might go mad. Let’s take a typical Saturday morning.  Mom gets to sleep all the way to 9am, because after 5 years of parenting I couldn’t sleep later if I wanted to.  Dad gets breakfast going and because Mom didn’t partake in the breakfast feast of frozen waffles and mini bagels, she doesn’t want to clean it up.  She might after a few hours, but not when there are blogs to read.  Then there is the playroom.  Oh the playroom, probably my favorite room in the house.  It is the room that my daughter is resposible for, usually after her brother has done his tornado impersonation.  I march out all dictator like and demand that she clean up the playroom and make sure to put everything in it’s place.  On really crazy weekdays you can find me down on my hands and knees making sure the Madeline house is in perfect order.  Yeah, this thing goes much farther than you think.  I stand over her while she weeps and wails that she didn’t create the mess and shout, “I don’t care.  I must have a clean house and you are my slave.  Do as your told or no mush for you.”  Don’t worry, I am working on the boy, but he has proven to be a harder nut to crack.  Damn, strongwilled kids.

After reading this post, I have decide that today might be the day that I just let it all go.  I will let the kids run wild and nott worry about the mess that comes as a result.  It does help that the husband will be in his office for some of the day and then down at his store.  It helps that we will spend a nice 3 hours at someone else’s house, where the mess is their problem, and by the time we get home it will be off to bed for all of them.  Oh yes, today is the today when I can let my hair down and not worry about the mess.  However, the girl slave will be picking up this hellhole before we leave.  See you don’t have to be a Domestic Zero, you just need to crack the whip and get your children to do it for you. 

See the little boy in the back looking all cute and innocent, yeah he did all this in about 5 minutes.

See the girl who looks so happy and carefree, wait until I tell her she has to clean up this mess.

Even Madeline doesn’t keep her area clean.  Little brat, who does she think she is, an inaminate object or something?

A closer look at the slum that Madeline has created for herself.  Being a doll and unable to move is no excuse for living like a slob.

Proof that I am training my next slave to do whatever I tell him to do.  I have so much power as a mother it is scary.  Until they become teenagers and I am in the corner nursing a bottle of whiskey. 

Join the other Domestic Zeros at Motherhood Uncensored.  We must unite to fight for our right to live in filth.