House-Cleaning, Before and After



Before: children with buns in their hair. Disastrous rooms. Witness the art table (not pictured), its top layered with multiple unrelated items, all craving to be organized and placed back into respective boxes. Sunday afternoon this was what I did, while Kevin tackled the (quite possibly worse) job of cleaning the basement. I ran up and down stairs carrying handfuls of beads, lego, playmobil bits, crayons, garbage, ribbons, matchbox cars, pretend food, masks, dirty socks, you name it. The job tasked my brain. Would I have the strength to complete it, to care enough to complete it? Finally, by about 8pm, the house was clean enough that we could invite someone else to clean it for us. We’d stopped briefly for Chinese take-out, laughing over our fortunes. Mine said that children would bring me contentment. Albus’s that his charms would sway the masses. Kevin’s that he would find his inner Buddha. Fooey’s that greatness is always misunderstood. Can’t recall the rest offhand. We briefly thought that CJ had eaten his, then Apple-Apple pretended to eat hers. This was a good family supper, and we lingered. Then, we were back at the cleaning frenzy. Now, if only we had someone to invite over to clean the cleaned-up rooms for us …
Yesterday, after supper, I noticed the bathroom floor. Generally speaking, it is not a good thing if one notices the floor. Hmm, this could stand to be cleaned properly, thought I. About half an hour later, I got my wish. Note: wishes are not always fulfilled in the ways one imagine they might be. Do not try to replicate this method. Allowing one’s daughter to plug up the shower drain with a washcloth–don’t. Also don’t leave daughter with stopped-up drain and running water completely unsupervised (while helping son practice piano, and other daughter get some mommy-time, while dad gives toddler his bath). Just don’t. You might be tempted to, because you can’t be in three places at once, and because your dirty floor will forthwith be ever so clean … but resist temptation. Please.
You see where I’m going with this.
You see the towels pictured above. Yes. There was overflow. Yes, it was impressive, flood-like, and went unnoticed until it was discovered washing in waves across the kitchen floor and pouring like a waterfall into the basement and onto the appliances, the washer, the drier, the freezer …
Suffice it to say, the parents wielded mops and towels frantically, whilst the children retreated upstairs and fended for themselves. They kept their heads. This bodes well for their future survival in times of crisis. The older ones procured snacks (bananas and apples) and with a little teamwork diapered CJ and dressed him in pajamas (diaper on backwards, but otherwise impressively secured). It was heartening. And we rescued the appliances in time. And we won’t have to re-dry-wall the basement walls.
And the bathroom floor? It almost sparkles.

Best Thing Ever

Getting to see the world through his eyes. Naming it. “Catty!” “Rock.” “Big tree!” “Birdie?” “House.” “Hand, hand.” Watching a small purple pinwheel, planted in someone’s front yard, spin in the wind. Standing still. Waiting. Being licked on the hand by a dog. Following a cat. “Flower. Leaf. See.” Taking an hour to walk around the block.
There’s no life like this.

Purple Duck Soup

What a mess this house is. What a crumb-cluttered, toy-tossed, almost indescribable state of yuck. Here’s a stuffed duck I found inside a pot inside a drawer. Duck soup. We suffered complete pandemonium after tonight’s supper, for which there was no explanation. Both parents were too tired to rise from the table to staunch the inevitable tragedy-in-waiting. (Nothing too terrible happened). But, crikey, it was loud. You could have called it downright chaos. Anarchy.
After dish-washing, and lunch-packing, I corralled the older two children into helping me plan out new morning and evening responsibilities. Actually, there’s nothing new about any of these, it’s just new that we’re writing it up and posting it on the wall under the saleable titles of: Happy Day AM!, and Happy Day PM! (Chores, duties, and other words of that ilk did not feel quite so inspiring. Hopefully this is not a case of Orwellian double-speak). Thanks to both Janis and Marnie for their helpful suggestions on organizing and motivating feet-dragging children. We’ll see how this works, and for how long …
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In other news, I’m discovering mixed emotions about my women’s studies zine/blog project (read the previous post if this is the first you’re hearing about it), though perhaps should not be taking its temperature minute-by-minute (curse you, internet, curse you!). Talk about a consciousness-raising project (sadly, it may only be raising my own …). But I spent part of last night surfing for blogs by feminist mothers, and found … so much anger and bitterness. Destruction rather than construction. I wonder whether this is the feminist that other women don’t want to define themselves as, and whether the word now means something other than what it once did. And maybe I’m a complete naif for never noticing that. I’ve always rather blithely defined myself as a feminist, without bothering to explain: oh, but not that kind of feminist. But I guess I’m not that kind of feminist, really. I’m not a natural activist, that’s for certain. I have an abhorrence toward violence of any kind, and rage causes me deep discomfort. I do recognize there are situations in which rage might be the only response. But I still don’t like it. I don’t like feeling angry myself or assigning blame. I’m wondering … can change happen … gracefully, gently, slowly? Can it be brought about by people asking: how can I make this better? What does better look like? How can I help?
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Please go and read the responses to the questionnaire that are coming in. I’ve posted them here. They’re lovely and thought-provoking, and I thank everyone who’s taken time to reply. You’ve got me thinking, too.

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About me

My name is Carrie Snyder. I work in an elementary school library. I’m a fiction writer, reader, editor, dreamer, arts organizer, workshop leader, forever curious. Currently pursuing a certificate in conflict management and mediation. I believe words are powerful, storytelling is healing, and art is for everyone.

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