Tales from the <cleaner> crypt

I've made some headway in the cleaning of the house...and Mr W has retained all of his working parts.

I took out the vacuum the other night, because someone (audrey) had crumbs all over the rug and it's funny, but none of her siblings noticed her crushing up a brownie in her hands and making art out of it, and they were sitting right there.  Where are the plaintive cries of "Mommy!  She's...." that I hear whenever she's into their stuff, huh??  She touches a Gameboy, I hear about it in a nanosecond.  She decides to color on the walls right next to them, not a word; afterall she's not bothering them directly, why call Mom to avert the disaster before it happens--no fun in that, right?

Although it was 9:30 pm (yes, p.m.) I'm pissed off, sent everyone out of the room, I vacuum the mess up and figure, hey, it's late, I've dragged out the circa 1970 harvest gold canister vacuum we inherited from Grandma, I'm freakin' going for it...and I moved the sofa, away from the wall to vacuum underneath it. 

I resisted the urge to call the nearby community college to come and set up an archeaological dig to explore and catalog the contents of what I found.  Toys, half-chewed dog treats, dust/lint combos, is that a real mouse (aack--cat toy),  there's that missing remote..."MI VIDA!!" (I call him that, it means 'my life'; it's something that started w/ my friend Janna and I, and those hyper-emoting ladies on the telenovelas; and it stuck, and I never thought I'd call him that, but it amuses me, so I persist) "Come here!" and when as he comes into the room, "if I have to look at this, then so do you--" And he's mystified, horrified, mouth agape: "What the hell?  Look at that!"  I let loose with the cursing in Spanish, of course "hijos de su chingada madre...que cochinos, los mato se entran este cuarto..."  Mr W knows it's best to not ask for the interpretation.  He just walks into the kitchen and gets the trash can while I continue to rant and plan a course of action.  I decide to call in the responsible parties to look upon their mess, claim the things I'm willing to let them keep, and leave before I really lose my temper.  "Ugh, get the pinche Swiffer out too," I tell Mr W as he shoos the kids down the hall. 

I'm mopping up the rest of the mess, when I hear the vacuum turn on again.  Hey, I think, turning around, what the heck is he doing?  But I don't really care, you see, he's decided to help out, and um, there's nothing sexier than a man with a vacuum (Oh!  unless it's a man with a frying pan, cooking dinner...which actually happened this week, the kids are still in shock...) getting to all the spots you can't, haha.  I didn't stop him at all, he's a big boy, he can handle it.  And I only stopped to watch for a minute, really.  ;)

Today, I worked on things a bit more, and it is gratifying to look around, admiring my handiwork.  I still cringe at the little things I'll still need to work on, and the bigger projects like the closets (oy) and kids rooms (double oy).  All in good time, I guess.  I am thinking that I'll be motivated to get to these other things, and then the stuff I started on will be ready to go again.  A vicious circle of dirty living with children, lol.

Audrey said to me, as she surveyed the living room the other day, "Oh, Mommy, you cleaned my house.."  of course, to a two year old, it's all about her, and it was cute because she twirled around, arms outstretched, as she said it.

Anyone else tries to pull that on me, and I'll be sweeping my foot under their support leg and taking them out.  At least I know when they land, there won't be a puff of dust rising into the air.