mess monsters

We spent this weekend cleaning up our house. I was looking for a DVD and all I found was a lot of dust and junk for a yard sale. Do industrial shopvacs pick up toys? The neatness, such as it was, lasted all of ten minutes. One playdate and it was destroyed. I had hoped it would have lasted at least until my spouse returned from work Monday evening. It’s a lucky thing we’re not expecting company, at least company over 12. I have about one week until my mom visits. I also have a magnet on my refrigerator that says “She came, she criticized, she left.” It’s there for a reason. I also gave my sister the same magnet.

Getting the creatures I live with to pick up after themselves would be a huge help. It’s the grousing, harassment, and creativity required to get the least little thing done that wears me out. Our house is pretty small so one would think that keeping up shouldn’t be that bad. It’s not the kid, it’s the crap they come with. I am forever on the prowl for crap to get rid of that we’re not using. Toys however, seem to emit a distress signal that only my daughter can hear when they are moved to a yard sale box.

Our home, being small, is not equipped with a “play room” in which Toys R Us can safely explode. On the upside, this forces us to keep the toy collection down to a dull roar. We hide a multitude of sins in our basement and actually put cars in our garage. Toys need to live upstairs on the main floor because out of sight is literally out of mind for our resident video game addict. For an adult male who’s made it to his mid fifties I can only marvel at how the spouse made it this far. I wish I had his mother around to talk to, it may have at least explained a lot. My guess is, they (my spouse and daughter) are spoiled with mommy being home full time. The scary prospect of going back to work would probably not stress them out in the least. Would I be expected to both work and maintain everything I am now? Probably. I also get the feeling they are oblivious to mess and dirt like some sort of teflon amoebas. My next job may be at a liquor store.

I remember when I first got married I went through a period where I couldn’t find anything. I hadn’t lived with anyone since college and all my roommates were women. Those early days taught me a few things. If you leave anything in the refrigerator, consider it gone. If you are looking for something that is awol, look in the absolutely most bizarre, you’d-never-in-a-million-years-put-it-there place and that will be exactly where your spouse put it. Over the years, thankfully, we have managed to establish some reasonably agreed upon places for a few things, coffee mugs by the pot, keys on a shelf, for example. It’s made life more livable, in parts, anyway.

One man’s definition of clean can also drive his wife crazy. When we are expecting company, like most grownups, I try to straighten up the house and make sure the place is clean. My spouse, of course, tries to help. The problem is we disagree on cleaning up. Contained does not constitute “dealt with” as far as I’m concerned. My biggest issue is that those containers are never dealt with, at least by my spouse. To his credit, though, he will voluntarily clean things when asked and whatever else catches his attention, usually something I’ve been meaning to get to but haven’t had the chance.

Maybe the reason those containers are never dealt with is the fact that my spouse has never gotten rid of anything he’s ever owned in all the years I’ve known him, at least not of his own accord. We’ve had broken printers, old monitors, piles of utility bills from the Reagan years, and old t-shirts that would’ve made my grandmother’s refrigerated mustard look fresh. Most of the time, I try to ask before I try to sell something of his, let’s not be a complete rat bast**d. In the meantime, I will keep trying to accept that my house, like my family is not perfect and that will not change anytime soon. To quote my favorite calendar “My house was clean last week, sorry you missed it.”