It’s all coming back to me, this having a toddler thing. I feel like I’m on a treadmill all day long, moving, but never going anywhere.
And I’ve decided that cleaning up with a toddler in the house is like trying to vacuum in the middle of a hurricane.
I put baby b. in his high chair, and he eats breakfast while I unload the dishwasher. When he’s done, I clean up the high chair mess while he toddles off to the family room and dumps a box of tinker toys. Before I’m finished with the kitchen, he wanders back in with his broom to “help” me sweep. And on and on it goes, all day long.
Yesterday I gave up for a few hours and actually tripped on my way across the living room.
At least he has a healthy sense of curiosity.
Any illusion that I am able to keep all of these balls in the air AND keep a tidy house are officially shattered. Twin A. had a playdate a few weeks ago, and when the little boy’s Mom came to pick him up, I invited her in. I didn’t apologize for the mess; after all, four Kindergarten boys and a toddler had been happily playing for two hours.
And they were all alive.
She told me later, “I love your home. It’s lived in, like our house.” And the next week when Twin A. played at her house, she invited me in for the first time. We pushed the pile of mail on the counter to the side and had a cup of tea.
Maybe this toddler thing isn’t so bad after all.