Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Boys are Gross, Except When They Bring You Flowers

Yesterday I was quite convinced that Martha Stewart and Mr. Clean couldn't rescue me from this pit.  Do you need a visual?? Well, I think that parts of this reality might be a bit too graphic (the bathrooms) for the neat freaks and obsessive compulsive scrubbers out there, so I'll just give you this G-Rated peek:
Keep in mind, this was the 7th time I had swept the floor for the day, and the time of duty was 9:59 p.m.  Multiply the pile by 7 and there you have a ridiculous amount of crunch being brushed from between my toes at any given time during the day. Where does it all the dirt and random pieces of crap come from?? Have I been cursed by the filth fairy?? Sometimes, I wonder.....The pic doesn't do justice to the amount of dirt that is actually mixed up in all that mess.  On white tile it would be darn near scandalous.  Seriously, if SRS knew they would come and take my kids.  Anyway, back to yesterday...

By 9:00 a.m., I had already put some serious traction on my pink sequined slippers stomping around the house trying to clear a path through our mini-habitiat (which recently feels like it's shrinking to the size of a hut) just so we could start school in a somewhat sane fashion.  Finally, exasperated, I decided to whip out the famous "fall in line, boys" command, a call my husband uses when he wants to get the boys attention, to get things done.

They lined up disheveled. They stared at me.  They stared at each-other. During the 5.7 seconds of silence I allowed myself to get a grip, they squirmed with discomfort and confusion. So far, the drill sergeant method was working.  I proceeded to lecture about hygiene and order until George raised his hand and asked if he could go hunting when I was done preaching.  Typical.

After I carefully laid out my expectations, hopes and dreams for the future of our estate, we all went into clean mode.  Things soon improved, one Clorox wipe and fluffy duster at a time. Though I felt somewhat relieved, I didn't feel great about the method it took to produce the results.

That evening, I went to a girlie gathering that I was invited to, and on the way home tried to come up with a better way, a better plan of management for handling the duties of the home, the messes, the responsibilities that the kids need to attend to without making them feel like punishment.  Feeling renewed in my intentions to bring peace and order to the home, I was ready to take on tomorrow. As I came in the door, I was greeted with hugs from all of the boys who were excited to bless me with a lovely bouquet of flowers that they had purchased in town with daddy.
My inner drill sergeant has been silenced by these blooms ~ the freshest thing in the house.  [Thank you, Lord.}  Times like this with the boys make me sentimental, so I wrote a really bad poem in honor of my testosterhome and those who dwelleth innith:

Boys are stinky.
Boys are gross.
Boys are loud,
And need help the most.

They make a mess in 2 seconds flat.
I find myself screaming, "what is that?"
Please flush and don't pick,
Sometimes your toots make me sick.

I wish you were clean and neat and tidy.
Our house is too small for all of you five-y.
It's crowded, it's small, dust bunnies are getting tall.
With a little help and some wine and I could conquer it all.

After I've yelled, and huffed and ranted,
You still look confused at the wish I want granted.
A little order, a bit less mess
The scent of fresh in your room would be the best!

No more Legos assaulting my feet,
No more bathroom puddles of pee.
No more moldy snacks hidden under the bed,
No more piles of laundry towering over my head.

Deep down I know, we won't live here forever.
Yes, maybe more square footage will make everything better.
Despite all of the behaviors I cannot understand,
I do know for sure that your each "my little man."

So, please be patient when I'm not,
Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me a lot.
I treasure you more than a house that shines.
It's who you are that I love, courageous and kind.

I want your childhood memories to be that in our work and in our play,
The relationships we build together are what will last, what will stay.
The house is secondary, clutter and dirt are really no big deal.
When you say, "I love you mommy" that's what matters, that's what's real!


  1. So cute! I laughed at the bathroom puddles of pee . . . .that has happened to me too, way too often!

  2. I love that you included the pile you swept up. I can identify just about everything in it, as those things are in my dirt piles, too. Boys are messy, but I think my daughter outmesses all five of our boys. Except for the pee. That is all boy. :)
    The poem was wonderful. Really, the whole post was. Thanks for the smile.

  3. Susan....this reminds me of a country song that I used to love called "little Houses" line in particular says, "Love grows best in little houses with few walls to separate... when you eat and sleep so close together, you can't help but communicate...oh, and if we had more room between us, think of all we'd miss. Love grows best in houses just like this...." I grew up in a little rancher and this song always brings back memories of my childhood and the closesness I shared with my siblings.
    LOVED your poem and I'm such a huge fan of your blog and your AWESOMENESS!!!

  4. Love the poem! And so very, very true. I long for the days we were all crammed into a too small house. Now the kids are all scattered and rarely come out of their own little "holes". Teenagers are the pits when it comes to privacy and me time! Enjoy the crazy and take heart in the fact that at least with a smaller house there is less to clean.

  5. I never even thought about having bathroom puddles of pee... my son is only 20 mos old... But I totally love ur poem. It's so perfect. I think someday your sons will understand you and cherish you more after reading this. And thank you for sharing. It makes me feel guilty about the crap I go through around here....not much probably compared to yours. Seriously? You must be superwoman in disguise!


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