Next to Godliness...

Sometimes creativity falls from the sky... and sometimes it is spawned from an utter desperation to not clean, work, or do otherwise constructive things. So, as I sit here knowing full well that the house is not going to clean itself, I ponder.  How does one become a Stepford Wife? Never known for my Type A personality, I can't fathom how one prioritizes cleanliness over playing with the kids, or even Facebook. 

Behold the Mess!!!

Maia's Room

Living Room

Where the magic happens! Where the heck is Mary Poppins?

Clean laundry waiting to be folded.

I can just imagine Geoff kneeling beside our messy bed. Hands folded, pleading with the powers that be to Disney Imagineer me into a perfectly coiffed Susie Homemaker. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the wife my clothes doth iron."
It ain't gonna happen my OCD Sweetness. For stooping to collect all the little ponies, stuffed animals, and various other crap, KILLS MY EFFING BACK! At which point, little bells go off in Maia's head and she knows opportunities are ripe to be had. "Here Mama, take your medicine..." Three hours later, "What the fuck Maia (Yes, she got the phrase from me.)?  How did you get a Dora sticker on the ceiling?"
Now you are saying to yourself, why not have Maia clean up her own crap?  We do, but rarely find that either one of us has the patience to sit through her dawdling. Any threat to take away toys that aren't cleaned up in X amount of time is met with a resounding, "Okay!" Trash them? She stops dawdling to help throw said toys away.  So I beg of you all, "Please do not pity my child as we attempt to teach Maia to be thankful for what she has." I am reminded of a quote by Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach, "Parents forgive their children least readily for the faults they themselves instilled in them."
But this is not a post about my inept parenting, rather an obnoxious rant about how I fail to live up to my own expectation of what my husband's (and the outside world's) expectations are of me. Got that? But for now I must depart, failing to have tag the clothes for the consignment sale, sort the Goodwill pile, put away the dishes, fold the laundry, etc to infinity. It is time to pick up Little one. In my 3 hours to myself, I ranted, played Scrabble online, Hangman online, caught a quick phone call with a cool chica, and got photographic evidence of my sloth. Score!!!!

PS: For those of you concerned over my WTF habit around the 4 year old: I did switch for a short time to "Jesus Christ Maia!" But trust me, it is better this way...