Working Mom: Volume 1; Issue 4: Housework

I was up past midnight doing what I loathe - scrubbing the kitchen floor.

It don't do this often. Which is why it needed scrubbing instead of mopping. It's a rare week the floor even gets swept.

Now, you may call child protective services on me, but it's either sweep the floor, or feed the kids, do the homework, spend some time enjoying the family, do the laundry (I have a reprieve for now - the washer broke!), go grocery shopping, empty the dishwasher, give some baths, encourage potty use (19-month old is pretty-well diaper free now, except on excursions. I have to say elimination communication, even in my minimal use of the technique, has made this transition soooooooo easy!), test the pool water, monitor the kids in the pool, give swimming lessons, do more laundry to have enough towels for pool use (hmmm, better get a new washer soon), search for the missing toddler shoe, do a little happy dance with said toddler when shoe is found, hunt down that funky smell, drop the oldest off at school, pick the oldest up at school, talk to the teacher about prostheletizing six-year-olds damning my child to hell, make lunch for oldest after cleaning out lunch box which is source of funky smell, brush three sets of hair, "do" up to six ponytails with accessories, find some clean underwear for three kids even though we must have close to a hundred pair (oh yeah, that washer thing), shop for a new washer, oh, yeah, and go to work.


Big Feat (I'm still working on a good title for The Man of the House) is a good Daddy. He takes the kids to the museum, feeds them lunch, encourages creativity, wipes noses and butts... in short, he loves his kids, and they love him. But, where he excells at Daddydom, he withers at housekeeping. I see pictures of people in their houses, and the first thing I notice is not the cute dress on the little girl or the finger up the nose of the toddler, or the snarl of limbs on a Twister board, complete with donkey, no, it's how everyone's homes seem to have clean floors. Look, no paper snippets all over the carpet! Wow, that kitchen tile gleams, and not a single toy or tossed paper cup on it! How did they housetrain that donkey?

I try to console myself that Big Feat is keeping all the little Metatarsels happy instead of throwing away the plastic Otter Pop skins, or cleaning a dish or two, or, yes, sweeping the kitchen floor.

But, I'd rather be playing with the kids myself instead of cleaning the house. No amount of nagging or pleading seems to help in my cause, and it beats me down.

Thus, my nocturnal quest for walking through the kitchen without getting stuck to the floor.

It's more than just easier navigation, though. My folks are visiting tonight, you see. Mom always had to pester me to clean my room or do my chores, it's not like she expects something out of Martha Stewart's Living. Would I want my daughters staying up late scrubbing their floors in preparation for my visit? No. But, this working mom has a need to prove that I can do it all. I can work full-time. I can have three kids. I can own a home. I can have shiney floors.

Just, please, don't look at the countertops.