I miss my cleaning lady

There are days when just getting through normal tasks – like, say, cleaning 2 1/2 baths – makes me feel as if I deserve a medal. You have not earned your parenting spurs until you have scrubbed a toilet (which, by the way, is covered in pee stains from a pre-schooler who has absolutely not perfected his aim) while a wailing 22-month-old clings to you as if her life depended on your attention at that exact millisecond. (I mean, she has a cruel mother who won’t let her play with the bottle of bleach or the toilet brush. Who wouldn’t be screaming about that?)

Also, darn you, BBC Earth, for including in your Snow Babies documentary footage of a baby and mother penguin who are separated, abruptly ending a little peace and quiet on the pre-schooler front with tears and trauma.

And that’s it for the self-pity this rainy Friday. We’re looking forward to a “knock stuff out” kind of weekend around here. I say bring it on. Clearly, I can handle it. I just weathered toilet scrubbing, after all.

*Note: The above is why I readily admit to normally hiring a cleaning lady every two weeks. She is so worth it. But alas, not in the budget until we can offload that other house.

 

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