AH!

So, I was pregnant with Mitchell. I started passing out at work, among other ridiculous things and finally quit. By that point, all I was doing was shoving muffins in my mouth and "watching surveillance" because everything made me so exhausted, I should have quit a lot earlier, but whatever. This left me about 4 months or so to "nest" and instead of doing things like setting up a nursery, I cleaned every inch of my apartment daily. It was intense. I remember Mike telling me that I shouldn't be bending over vacuuming the edge of the carpet again but then I snapped at him "well, SOMEONE has to do it!" I was also not a very nice pregnant person.

Then, Mitchell was an easy baby. He slept on routine, and was predictable. He also slept a good chunk of time during the day (night was a different story) but I was motivated enough to keep my house clean. Routine came easy.

We moved to Utah, and well, it started out okay.

Then I got pregnant with Ali the same time Mitchell became a terror. I was tired, and I didn't care. And also around that time, I thought it'd be fun to start a business, which I was (am!) serious about and well, it takes time.

And finally, 6 months after Ali is born (that's today), and I find myself in this predicament, and I'm starting to worry that my house will never be clean again.

This epiphany happened about 2pm Monday afternoon. And I thought "It's monday, and I'm going to be realistic (ha) and 'deep' clean one room a day. For a week" and I plan my week accordingly.

Of course, then I realize, I don't clean very well, and it's going to take 3-4 times of deep cleaning the same room before it looks as clean as my moms house. ha. that's always the goal. I want it, as Mike would say, "museum clean", or "so clean it doesn't look like humans live here" well, ideally, I like living in a clean house. That just doesn't seem realistic to me (I mean, I have to clean it) So, for me to accomplish this dream, I'm going to have to deep clean every day for a month.

The kitchen is the worst, so I'll start there. I start scrubbing. Every cabinet, the top of the fridge, behind the fridge. Every door, every crack in the fridge. Mike comes home with the oven torn a part like nobody's business. He says "what....happened?...." "oh, I'm cleaning the oven. For the first time since we lived here!" his face goes from normal, to shocked, to disgust, and finally, to horror.

"Do you want...help?"

"no" Really, even though my house is never clean, I'm really critical of anyone else cleaning it. As in, it's cleaner than it was, but not high enough for my standards. Yes. This includes Mike.

So, we eat dinner, get the kids in bed, and I keep cleaning. And cleaning. And cleaning. (yeah, it's that bad) It's 11 pm and Mike says "are you sure I can't help you?"

"no"

"okay, look. I can wipe down the table."

"really? with murphey's oil? every nook and cranny? Like I would do it?" I'm also pretty mean when I'm tired and cleaning (cleaning makes me more angry. My mom used to tell us as kids that cleaning makes you happy "when we're helping we're happy...", but I think I rebelled against that theory long enough that I do actually get angrier the longer I clean)

So Mike says "yes! I would clean it like you!"

I say "fine" as if I'm doing him a favor.

He cleaned it high enough for my standards. And I was grateful.

Midnight rolls around and I'm a zombie. So I decide to finish (I only had the floors left) in the morning. And I go to bed.

I wake up, irritated that I've set this never ending goal, but determined. I mop the floor. And tackle the living room. (I wrote out a list, see. The living room has things like vacuum the couch, wipe down every inch of the couch, and clean the front door, etc) It was much less work than the kitchen.

And then, Mitchell wants juice. I go to the clean refrigerator and pull out some nice red cranberry juice. I'm sure you all know where I'm going with this.

2 seconds pass, and my dear son, decides he's done with his juice. Actually, it was just an accident, and I successfully resisted the urge to get flaming mad. It was all over the floor, chairs, table, and carpet. AWESOME!

I cleaned it up. And am now on day four of my spring cleaning fun.

Ali had her doctors appointment. These things are always fun. The pediatrician thinks I'm crazy, probably because I fully admitted to him I thought my family doctor was a pediatrician the first time I met him. Also, Mitchell does not like the doctor. He screams, throws things, and usually is chanting "PAPA EMMMMMA! PAPA EMMMMMMA!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" And I curl up in a ball and cry.

This time, though, he sat next to me, like a good child, and spoke English to the doctor.

Doctor: "Oh, look! Are we happy today Mitchell?"

Mitchell "I happy"

Doctor: "haha. Oh, good. I'm so glad. Are we going to look in Ali's ear??"

Mitchell: "Goo Goo baby"

Doctor: "Is she a baby?"

Mitchell "mama [is a] baby!!!" then he's laughing so hard at his funny joke he can't breathe.

It was a lot better, trust me, than it usually is.

So, the doctor gives Mitchell a sticker for being so good. And Mitchell is so proud.

We walk outside, and Mitchell picks up snow balls and starts throwing them at me. I did not have a coat on.

We get in the car, and he says "shooo shaws??" which is 'french fry' and he was sooo good, I just couldn't say anything but "yes". And we went to sonic and ordered shoo shaws and a diet coke for mama because, the cleaning thing hadn't happened yet. And it was going to be a long day.

But then, I didn't have my credit card. And left it at the doctors office. We pull away from sonic and Mitchell starts screaming tears of horror. How dare I. I could not console the child. I think to solve this, I would have to start breaking promises more often, but........ breaking promises is a lot worse right??

I google the doctors office number via text. Which, of course, is a number of a physical therapist. So I'm forced to call my mother who can barely understand me because of the "SHOOOO SHAWWWSS MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMAAAA!!!!" which, is sort of heartbreaking, because I'm not trying to be mean.

It was the longest drive ever back to the doctors office. Mitchell was not happy. But the snow on the ground provided a lot of therapy and anger release for Mitchell. Again, I don't wear coats. But I've got a really good protect-Ali reflex.

And then we went to burger king for shoo shaws because I just drove away at sonic, not really comprehending that they were getting my order ready........ my brain is slowly disintegrating into nothing. I'm not even on drugs.

Meanwhile, Ali seems to just be along for the ride of it all. I can envision her in the pre-existence, looking down on her future family and thinking "seriously?" but has decided to make the best of her 'situation'. She laughs at everything Mike does, and everything Mitchell does. Mitchell finds Ali's laugh so hysterical and awesome, he freaks out every time she's taken away from his presence. Or sleeping. This makes car rides with the two of them hilarious, unless of course, she falls asleep. The Mitchell screams "Goo Goo NOOOOOO!!!!" and hits her chair till she wakes up. She wakes up laughing, naturally, but she needs her sleep, poor thing. Also, in the middle of the night, he wakes her up playing his harmonica over her crib. I'm so glad they enjoy each other, but really? COME ON!!!!

Life. She's also quite mobile for her little self. Hasn't figured out how to scoot forward, but scoots regularly under the couch. Mitchell usually joins her, but he wasn't in the camera mood this morning.