Last week, we came home from vacation, which really, with two kids and 8 in-laws isn’t much of a vacation, it’s just eating hot dish in close proximity to a lake. But Ellis had so much fun fishing, riding a horse, making fart noises with her cousins and seeing a rainbow right over an ice cream shop, I thought maybe we had all died and gone to her heaven. JQ, of course, choose that week to bust out tooth number seven. His heaven, as it turns out, is snuggling in bed with an exhausted mom. His hell? Sleeping in a pack and play. Which would have been fine, but snuggling with a baby in bed only sounds good in theory. In actuality, he was up every couple of hours, pulling my hair and trying to shove his pacifier in my mouth.
And in those groggy early hours, I both absolutely loved that he was up, smiling his crooked grin, whispering, “dadadada” and trying to shove a pacifier in my mouth. And I also hated it, because I was so tired. Lay down baby, enough with the shenanigans.
So often, I’m absolutely torn between bone aching weariness and frustration and absolute contentment. A few nights ago, JQ was up at three, I went to pick him up and he fell asleep in my arms. As he slept he waved his hand and whispered, “ayyyyyeeeee.” I thought I might never leave that little moment. I thought I might die if I didn’t get some sleep.
The day we came home from vacation, we had water in our basement from all the rain and five loads of laundry to do, not to mention the bags and boxes and soggy cooler to sort out. So, Dave put the kids to bed. I poured a glass of wine and I leaned the hell into that mess. By the time everything was cleaned and put away, I was on a bit of a roll. So, I poured another glass, filled a giant bucket with Murphy’s Oil and hot soapy water and just went to town on my floors.
This is what I do when I feel exhausted and like everything is overwhelming, I clean. This may shock you if you’ve ever been to my house, which is decidedly not that clean. But I do my best. And sometimes, when life is out of control, I think, I may not be able to make my baby stop screaming at 2am, but this sink will sparkle like a mother freaking diamond. This is not the confession of a healthy mind.
As I scrubbed the floors, I noticed the first five inches of the walls had tiny smear marks, like infant cave drawings in banana and Cheerio and God only knows what else. Little clods of dirt tracked away from the planters. I could see little dig marks in the soil. Under the couch was a piece of pop tart that looked like it had been sat on. Then there was a small blue plastic ball that felt sticky. Little cardboard books goobered up and smelling faintly of diaper, were under the table. I found tiny bite marks on a chair leg.
Under the TV was a princess wand and small pink purse filled with plastic food, an empty glue bottle and six quarters. A purple high heeled shoe, bedazzled with rhinestones was lined neatly alongside my running shoes. There were plastic beaded necklaces in the baby’s play car. A stuffed snake wore a feather boa.
I wasn’t there when all of these things happened. Or maybe I was and I was just too busy with another mess somewhere else. Or maybe I was making dinner or maybe I was sitting on the couch drinking coffee and staring out the window until someone’s screaming brought me back to where I was.
But as I cleaned everything and set it back into it’s place, I mourned it. It was like setting things to right was destroying the evidence of whatever small magic had happened. What if it never happened again? JQ loved to play with this rattle from the first time he could grasp up until a week ago. Now, he won’t touch the thing. He woke up and decided never again. But I also hated cleaning it all up. Because, it really is so futile. The next morning, I set JQ down on the floor and he crawled right to the planter and shoved a fistful of dirt in his mouth.
I don’t know why I bother.
I don’t know why I don’t clean every night.