I think it started when I saw someone else's van, and it was really clean. Like freakishly clean on the inside, and I was like, "WHY is your van so clean?" And the owner was like, "UGH, it's not clean, it's DISGUSTING!" And I was like, "Honey, come look at my van and you will see what disgusting is..." Etc. etc. So I went home inspired, and proceeded to clean out my van. And it truly was disgusting. I got all the garbage out and vacuumed, and I was shocked and dismayed to realize that we don't need food storage. If ever we're starving, we just need to head out to the ol' van and have us a smorgasbord of crushed Cheez-its and petrified chicken nuggets. And it irritated me that my precious children treat our vehicle as if it is a trash can.
On Valentine's Day, the kids came home from school and dumped their loot out on the living room floor. Along with their coats, backpacks, homework and shoes. And blankets. (Oh, curse those wretched blankets that plague my life. They are everywhere always.) I asked them approximately 47 times to pick up their stuff, while I was busy getting our special V-Day dinner and dessert ready. I had envisioned a Valentine's dinner by candlelight with our little darlings, expressing how much each of them mean to me, saying loving things and whatnot. I was so annoyed by their slobbishness and apparent inability to hear and heed my requests, and by 7:30 I was hiding in my bed and I just wanted to be left the heck alone.
I was a slob when I was kid. My mom would make me clean my room, and I would literally sit for an entire Saturday in the middle of my messy room looking through old stuff, reminiscing about the good old days, and not accomplish a thing. I think I'd end up stuffing everything under my bed just so my mom wouldn't kill me, but I didn't care that my room was a disaster. It didn't bother me then. Obviously, even now I can go a couple of months driving around a cesspool van, but once I realize what has happened, I can't believe it. Anyway, whatever. I don't know what my point is. I like clean, and they do too, they just don't know it yet.
Tonight Addie was given the job of sweeping the kitchen floor, and she sobbed and sobbed that it was too hard, and would sort of toss the broom forward with one hand and cry about it being so difficult, and I thought I was going to wring her neck. I lost my cool and told her she was stubborn, then defined stubborn for her so she would know what I meant, then felt like crap, then showed her how to effectively use the broom and dustpan, then picked her up and held her while she cried and rubbed her back and told her I was sorry for getting mad and that I love her. She held my hand and walked me to her bed to tuck her in, all splotchy-faced. And I just think sometimes, I have no idea what I'm doing, and where is the line between showing your kids that you're serious, and giving them a break because they're just kids for crying out loud?
So yeah, I'm going to have Nils vacuum out the van from now on. Serenity now.
