If I can't figure out how to write some good posts, I may as well use my blog as a form of therapy. I guess confession is supposed to make a person feel better. I don't actually feel bad, but everyone can always stand to feel better, right?
My confession of the week is that I kick things under the couch. Before I had kids and even when my kids were still pretty small, I maintained that my kids would clean up each thing or group of things as they went. They would know that before getting out the toy tractors, all the Trio blocks must be picked up and put away. And then before they got out the trains, the tractors had to be cleaned up. Books and magazines say this is the best method. And it really sounds great, doesn't it?
Only I live in real life. I work full time. Three days a week I work from home. I also have meals to cook and laundry to do and sanity to maintain on the weekends when my husband is at work. It is absolutely remarkable the number of things two boys can find to drag out while I'm putting in a load of laundry. Or answering emails. Or on a conference call. Or blinking.
So I've adopted a more real-life approach. All the toys will be picked up before bedtime. Of course, ideally this would be the two people who made the mess cleaning it up by themselves and without being prompted. It would also mean all the toys all over the entire house would be picked up and put where they belong. Reality is more like... the two boys being helped by whichever parent is home to clean up all the toys visible in the main area of the house. If we get to tidying the playroom, great. If not, we just close the door. Of course, all the pick-up is usually done in a hurry as we race the clock to bedtime.
So... can you really blame me when the house is finally quiet and the kitchen tidied, that I really don't feel like picking up any more toys? Sure, the kids should have picked up that ball or cardboard-tube-turned-spyglass or flip flop. And yes, squatting down to pick it up and then walking to put it away would almost count as exercise. But, if I take a good look at it and sweep it under the couch with my foot, then the living room will look clean when I flop down on the couch to catch up on reading, facebooking, or the DVR. And I will know exactly where said item is when someone is whining for it three days from now. And that will make me a hero.
I'll take being a bad-housekeeper-yet-hero-mom over those burning those five extra calories any day.