Is It Me?

Did I fail to properly instruct my family on what I feel are basic and fundamental household tasks?  Am I that ineffective as a domestic executive?  I know I am a kick ass domestic worker.  That is not the question.  I can load a dishwasher like a pro.  Like a pro.

Here are four tasks that I would love to have my family, no, not just them, the entire world, fall in line with my ideal.  Talk about world peace.

Crap In Common Spaces

See picture above.  There is definitely a double standard going on here because I don't give a flying flea about my piles of stuff.  In other words I don't notice my stuff as much as I recognize other peoples stuff.  I believe this is because I know why my pile is there and that I will remove it sooner rather than later.  And, if I do happen to have a pile planting down roots it is because I know that it will take a while to truly put each item in that pile in it's proper place and, to be honest, I'm procrastinating.  This piece of paper will be filed here.  This coupon goes there.  (That reminds me I have been meaning to write a post on coupons. I have very strong opinions about them.)  This marker goes with a set on the other side of the house.  This piece of paper requires 20 minutes follow up.....
That said I am always tempted to leave a pile like the one pictured above, alone, and see how long it takes to be removed.  I'm just not that brave.  Maybe relaxed would better describe the precise character trait I am lacking.
I don't envision my children immediately picking up after themselves and never leaving a wake of destruction in their path, but someday it would be nice if it occurred to them that leaving their jacket, shoes and backpack on the floor, setting up a fun game of "Mommy Just Tripped And Barely Escaped Using Adult Language" could be avoided by using the hooks a mere 2.5 cm away from their pile.  One can dream.

I recently got a great tip from a very intelligent friend of mine.  She will place random pile items, such as a sock, in the refrigerator or on a light fixture.  When the offending family member asks about the unlikely location of the sock, she points out that if that it doesn't belong on the floor either.  Brilliant!

Food Particles on Plates

We don't have a garbage disposal.  This means that if you put a plate in the sink (Not one to let the positive go unnoticed, if a plate is being put in the sink by someone other than myself, that is super great!) with food on it, it will wind up partially or fully saturated with water, transformed into a slimy and/or bloated mass and then finally laid to rest in the comfort of the sink strainer drain plug.  Guess who gets to fish that out with her finger?  More stomach turning than that is having to sometimes vainly pluck something out of the mouth of the actual drain, like a piece of fried egg too big to slip down into the recesses of our septic tank.  I think I've said enough.  Anything more and it would just get too graphic.  Maybe if I used my middle finger to clear aforementioned gunk out, I could give myself an outlet for my disgust.

Imagine some touching keyboard music and Neil Patrick Harris speaking into the camera for a profound public service announcement:  "Hundreds of domestic workers all over this nation are plagued by leftover food particles in their sinks.  You probably pass one such worker everyday and don't even realize it.  You can make a difference. Please remove the food from your plate before placing it in the sink."

Used Tissue Mount Everest

As you may have wisely deduced, my daughter had a runny nose a couple of weeks ago.
She has learned about germs.  She knows where the garbage can is.  How can two and two not be put together here?
Part of the problem is that, even though I have given her some reteaching on the blow and fold technique, she doesn't always use that method.  She belongs to the blow once, grab another tissue school of thought.  God bless her.  I guess I would rather have this situation to deal with rather than someone who won't blow their nose and snarks all their mucus up into their brain.

Toothpaste Chunks In The Sink

How can someone who isn't color blind not realize that something is just not right here?  Gross.
I am thankful for the clean teeth, but come on, people.  The water is right there.  Just rinse the blue glittery goodness away.
Photo curtesy of DW and her two boys.



Maybe it's not me.  Maybe my family is lovingly, intentionally giving me job security.  It does help me not care as much if I ask myself, "Do I really want to raise children who are as neat freakish as me?"  The answer is no.  I can hold myself back from the constant reminding knowing that I might be sparing them from a life of incessantly noticing that which ins't "perfect."  I'm getting there.  If that's the case then I could maybe give myself props when they don't throw away their stack of 3,000 used tissues.  "What a free spirit my daughter is!  I'm raising a child who will be comfortable and well prepared to serve in the ghettos of any given third world country. Yay me!"

If you can totally relate to the madness I just depicted, then I hate to break it to you, but you are officially anal.  Welcome to the club.  There are complimentary valium infused martinis in the membership lounge.  We may be an uptight lot at times, but at least no one has to remind us to scrape the cheesy nacho remnants off of our plates.