The Sleepwalking Pisser

You know those days when you think, “Wow, things couldn’t possibly get worse” and then suddenly they do? Well, that pretty much summed up Monday for us here on the Nucking Futs homefront. Yes, it was just a series of one sucky thing right after another, starting with a lice scare at school (I itch just thinking about it), capped off by a big ol’ pile of piss (literally).

It’s never fun to discover that your child has peed the bed when all you wanna do is crawl into your own bed and pass the hell out. And it never seems to fail that this little event ALWAYS takes place right after you just put fresh sheets on said child’s bed. So, you can probably imagine how thrilled we were to find out that we had to once again put clean sheets on our daughter’s bed at freaking 11:30 at night. Nothin’ like a little midnight laundering to really get your mojo goin’.

So after tucking our newly-pj’d daughter back into her freshly-made sleep nest, my husband popped into the boy’s room to drag his little booty to the john for one last tinkle. He’d no sooner stepped two feet through the door when I heard, “What the hell is this??!!” I tried REALLY hard to play it off like I didn’t hear him, but he was apparently under the impression that we were in this whole parenting thing together since he repeatedly called my name over and over again till I made my way back down the hall. I begged God to please, please, please not let me find a room full of gut soup.

Turns out that the kid had sleepwalked his way into what he thought was the bathroom, when in actuality, it was really just his dresser. There was a trail of piss all over the floor, right into which my hubby had managed to step, and a sprinkling of tinkling all over the drawer that, ironically, holds his undies. So, once again we rolled up our sleeves and set out to clean up yet another late night mess.

I was seriously beginning to believe that I do, in fact, live in a damn fraternity house. I mean, really, between my ripped-to-shreds couch and now the pissing on the floor, it’s getting to the point where I should just pick out our Greek letter symbols and start hazing the pledges. Luckily, last night, though, my son reassured me that this is nowhere near as bad as “Animal House.” The kid actually had the naivete’ to bust his own self for sneaking a cookie out of the pantry at 4 a.m. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m not thinkin’ too many frat dudes would ever admit to stealing from the friggin’ cookie jar….

To Hell With Housekeeping

Lately I’ve been contemplating whether to just give up on the whole housecleaning thing altogether. I mean, let’s be honest, no one in my family really gives a rat’s ass if the dishes are all piled up or if they have to dig all the way to China to find their favorite toy in the playroom. Every time I decide to waste my time tidying up around here, I wonder why the hell I even bother.

HOUSEKEEPING FAIL #1

Let’s take, for example, my son’s dresser in his room. I’m all for exhibiting baseball and soccer trophies, along with some memorable photos. But this?

Well this is nothing but a big old hodgepodge pile of crap! There’s no organization, no style, and absolutely no rhyme or reason to this display whatsoever.

HOUSEKEEPING FAIL #2

And then there’s my daughter’s dressing table in her room. It’s constantly junked up with little trinkets and toys and God only knows what all kinds of shit. I’ve told her no less than 3000 different times to clean it up, and apparently, this is her idea of clean:

I’m not sure she’d be able to find herself in the mirror if she even tried. It’d be like searching through a “Where’s Waldo?” book just to find her face. The chick is destined to have her own A&E special on t.v. one day.

HOUSEKEEPING FAIL #3

And my kitchen table? You know, the place where families typically gather to eat their meals each and every day? Yeah, well, mine just so happens to look like this right now:

You may or may not have noticed that there is a frickin’ rocket launcher smack dab in the middle of the damn thing. Really? I’m supposed to serve dinner around this giant missile as if it’s not even there? This monstrosity has been sitting there for DAYS and nobody seems to see that anything is even remotely out of place here.

HOUSEKEEPING FAIL #4

And the real kicker? Last night I was searching the cabinets in the kids’ bathroom for fingernail clippers, and you wanna know what I found in one of the drawers? Believe it or not, I stumbled onto this growing little collection:

Holy hell, just what is going on in my house?! I have no idea why in the name of Quilted Northern someone is saving up all these empty toilet paper rolls. And I’m not sure what’s worse — that someone’s preserving all these things or that I never even noticed until now.

One thing is abso-freaking-lutely crystal clear though:

Yep, I give up.

Get To Work!

 

     

     You know what was really great about date night this weekend?  Getting away from all the stress of the kids and enjoying an adults only night out. You know what wasn’t great about date night this weekend?  Coming home to a house that looked like a bomb exploded all over the freaking place.  And I gotta tell ya, it’s really kinda hard to “get into the mood” when you’re tripping over Legos, Nerf bullets, and popcorn with every single step that you take.  

     So, as a result of said frustration, I had to take matters into my own hands and lay down the law when the two shorties got up yesterday morning. They needed to know that just because a teenage babysitter may or may not have been texting away on her purple Justin Bieber cellphone all night, that most certainly did not give them the license to turn our friggin’ homestead into a damn pig sty.  Therefore, I climbed up on my soapbox and informed them that they would march their little asses right down to the basement and spend however long it took them to pick up every flippin’ thing off the floor or else all birthday parties would be cancelled next weekend.  (Now would I REALLY follow through with this mean of a threat? Hell no!  I mean, shit, I’m no Mommy Dearest or anything, but they needed to know that I meant business and to shake in their boots just a little bit.)

     After giving them a good hour of cleaning up time downstairs, I thought I’d pop down to see just how the progress was coming.  I was sure that they would’ve had to make some kind of headway.  But when I poked my head into the playroom, I found my daughter shuffling construction paper piles and my son staring contentedly at a dust bunny in a corner.  Clearly, an intervention was necessary.  So I gave them very specific tasks and told them I’d check on them again in a half an hour.  And when I went downstairs a second time, they were both hiding underneath the bean bag chairs in the fetal position.  Seriously, kids, WTF?!  I realized that sadly,  I was working with a crew of monkeys.    

     Luckily for me, the assistant foreman (aka my hubby) overheard my hissy fit and stepped in to help get a grip of the out-of-control situation. I gladly put him in charge of overseeing the remainder of the project since this was obviously going to need on-site supervision.  I don’t really know how he did it (nor do I really give a rat’s ass), but he was somehow able to light a fire under some itty bitty asses and finally get that basement spick and freaking span halfway throughout the afternoon.

     So, yeah, maybe I posed a threat that was secretly empty, and maybe I exploded just a wee bit too much, but I get so sick and tired of cleaning up one mess only to find yet another in its path.  I don’t get paid a damn dime for this maid gig, people, and I flat out refuse to bring more kid shit into this house if we can’t even organize the shit that we already have.  Now don’t go thinking that I’m gonna freak out in the middle of the night about wire hangers or anything — I haven’t gone that far off the deep end just yet.  And besides, my kids know better than to use anything but PLASTIC hangers anyway.