This is me sitting in a childsized wagon with my two children in an attempt to keep them away from the sandbox which happens to be under the deck where a nice but not bright robin couple decided to begin a family. The robin couple are frantically running around my yard in a panic and are refusing to get back in the god damn nest even though they continued to make the fucking thing a few weeks ago while my children ran amok among them and shouted things at the sky. I can only do so much robin family. This is why natural selection happens.
As I was sitting in this wagon I began to contemplate my own home and the various nest like collections strewn about roughly 80% of the time. I should begin by stating that I was raised in a family that was undiagnosed obsessive compulsive in terms of many things, with cleanliness being at the top of that list. It honestly took me 25 years to accept that the way I grew up was abnormal and that everyone elses's homes were not in fact the pig sty hovels I was taught to think they were. I could talk to you forever about the extent of the madness, but one of the best examples I can recall was not being allowed to hug a brand new stuffed animal I was given as a gift for fear that it may get lint on my outfit before church. I instead smushed that stuffed turtle with the red baseball cap as hard up against my face as I could and spun around to get out the love aggression since I was being denied the pleasure of hugging him properly. Lint. Lint was somehow a sin. Do you understand how this can warp a child's mind? Sweet baby jesus, the insanity.
You'll be happy to know that in the act of creating and then caring for children, I have overcome my learned terror of messes and dirtiness. By overcome I mean that I allow life to happen without stopping my kids and dog and husband from just being living breathing beings that naturally make messes. The anxiety it gives me is still very real, but I override my urge to control it 75% of the time and for that I give myself a giant high five. Well done, you. You will only fuck your children up marginally in this regard!
With that being said, if my mother were still alive, and if my gram wasnt fighting dementia, the state of my home on a daily basis would put them both in comas that they may never awake from. Part of me is horrified at this fact of my life and the other gets incredibly gleeful that Im an adult and that this is my home and that I can do whatever I want with it so fuck all yall. I share this with you now in the hopes that if this is familiar to you, you dont feel so alone, and that if this disgusts you, you are able to feel better about yourself because of me. Ride that high horse, baby.
Ahhh we now travel downwards to the floor. The glorious floor which remains glorious for exactly 37 seconds after it is cleaned before milk is spilled on it 4 times in a row, and the dog throws up on it for some reason. Here you'll see it is sporting a lovely mixture of dog hair, playdoh crumbs, playdoh toys, old milk stains, and an orange plastic plate which I can guarantee will remain underneath there for several days until I get annoyed enough to crawl on my knees and pick up.
Here we have the playroom which by all means should always look like this. If your kids bedroom or playroom doesnt looked played in, as a survivor of childhood cleaning trauma whose room always had to look magazine perfect, I implore you to knock that shit off. Give them this. Let them at least have this.
We now make our way up the stairs, past the random dirty pee diaper on the landing, to this stop at the humidifier table in the hallway where a fun collection of items seems to be having some kind of random things convention. You'll notice many toys and pieces of toys and games, as well as a large 5 ft long cardboard tube that came with the outdoor rug that we bought for the porch and that has somehow traveled from the garage into our 2nd floor living space. Yes, what you are seeing there IS a big ass plastic stripper shoe that fell from the top shelf in my closet and didnt mange to brain anyone to death when it took its mighty leap, and that I am now letting my kids play with because I think its funny as hell to see them try to walk in it or use it as a vehicle for their figurines to travel in.
Here we find an upside down laundry basket with a collection of pajama tops and bottoms I got too overwhelmed to actually find matches for, fold and put away. Thats like 7 steps for one chore, I said GOOD DAY SIR. So here they will sit for the next 3-5 days until I feel up to finishing that specific task. Note the random book poking out from under the closet and my toes which I was too lazy to crop out.
This is the guest bedroom that theoretically should be in mint condition as we havent had guests in it in over two months. Youll see that it, in fact, is not! Empty diaper box and bunny tail from an old Halloween costume withstanding, Id enjoy sleeping in here were it not for the fact that a tiny localized tornado clearly took out that train yard and no one has given any thought to helping the community rebuild. Thanks again for nothing FEMA.
This is the sink in the laundry room and my favorite shit pile nest in the house because I have zero clue how any of this stuff got here, and because of that I am allowing it to stay. Paw Patrol Zuma hovercraft toy, tampon, cap to laundry detergent, tiny book called Chicken Soup with Rice, large piece of fool's gold sitting on the book--which I found out the hard way that my baby with a death wish can fit entirely into his mouth, kill me, empty bottle of infant tylenol, $6 in cash, roll of duct tape, small garden stone, and wooden nut to child toolbox that I havent seen in 6 months. If these items had a high school yearbook, Id sign it "Love you guys!! Youre hilarious, Never change!!"
We return to the mainfloor for a glimpse at the mudroom, where because we live in a Northern state that has bipolar weather conditions, I am unable to fully put away our winter boots, hat, and coats, even though I have already taken out our summer sandals, rain jackets and sunscreen. That lovely carpet remnant we use to wipe our feet on is from the day we moved in two years ago, and that striped mitten is one of approximately 5 pairs who no longer have matches and just get thrown together based on whatever is available and hasnt been placed into the dogs water bowl by the baby. I can see you wondering, and Yes we have been invited to show in the Parade of Homes based on this photo alone.
A little jaunt from the mudroom we have the ever present Random Shit Pile of Eternity that has always been and always will be until the sun explodes and the oceans turn to dust. There are so many fun things here but some of my favorites include--giant garden rock, tube of pink party hats, hammer, jewelry cleaner, plastic popcorn container that is filled with all my jewelry I take off immediately upon entering my home, happy face stickers, a book that my husband keeps forgetting to return to his coworker, a broken camera from 2008 that made it through 2 moves, and the Grand Poobah of them all--a purple felt box containing my mothers ashes so she can see the shitshow of my life and laugh with me and be a part of it on the daily. Also that Galileo thermometer I got 3 Xmases ago has somehow managed to survive being hit with a mini basketball over 35 times. We only have the highest quality imports around here. folks.
And finally, mainly because I'm getting bored and not because there aren't any more shit pile nests to show you, nothing compliments a scenic view like many spray bottles of household cleaners, a pair of reading glasses that no one has ever come back for, potted plants that will probably never grow, and an antique statue used as a place to dry the nose frida.
Thank You for coming on this tour with me. Have a wonderful weekend fart knockers.
Love,
Maria
