Carrie Leigh (carrie_leigh) wrote,
Carrie Leigh

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I wish I could say that my sons were not pigs. Sadly, this is not the case.

My house is arranged in such a way that all of my sons' clothes, toys, furniture and bathroom is upstairs. And that's all that's upstairs. Their stuff.

Once every month and a half or so, I venture up there. I know, I know, I should go more often, but inevitably, every time I go up there, it's like the rooms are a swirling vortex of doom, sucking me in against my will. I get trapped cleaning, rearranging, dumping, shouting and scrubbing until the place is habitable by human beings again.

Their closets are like an archeological dig; the layers tell you about what they've been up to. Unwashed socks, swim trunks are the top layer, followed by tent poles and Nerf swords, more unwashed socks and dress trousers, followed by the final layer of school summer learning packets and backpacks. And unwashed socks.

It was an all-afternoon affair. Clothes were hung up, clean clothes were re-folded and put in the newly rearranged chests of drawers, dirty clothes (DIRTY CLOTHES IN THE DRAWERS! IN THE DRAWERS!!!!) were sorted into the hamper, and clean clothes next to dirty clothes followed suit.

We purged clothes and shoes that no longer fit. We purged clothes and shoes that weren't fit for humans to wear. We purged trash and empty glasses (though ironically enough, they aren't allowed food or drink upstairs), and we purged toys that hold no place in a 9 & 11 year-old's rooms.

We cleaned out from underneath beds.


Sometimes there are no words.

But it's me. So I'll try and paint a picture. I started to do the under bed action myself, but there was something under Aaron's bed that had moved past mess and I'm pretty sure had actually become sentient. It was pissed when I took a pair of tongs and pitched it in the garbage bin. I distinctly heard something like a hiss. It was uncool.

The bathroom. My exact words were, "Oh, the humanity!"

Ethan got a second lesson in How To Clean A Toilet - 101. There were seven - COUNT 'EM- SEVEN- towels that had only been used ONCE, to dry off a clean body. Do you know what my pet peeve is? It's not the liberal media thinking that everyone should agree with them. It's not bad table manners. It's not bad grammar. Here it is: Buckle up... It's people that throw clean clothes and laundry in with the dirty clothes and laundry and give me twice as much work to do.

(And all those other things. Who am I kidding, here?)

But the laundry thing really makes me crazy.

Maybe when they go back to school, it'll be less like a pigsty.

Though there's no need to blaspheme the pig, come to think of it.
Tags: aaron, ethan, horrific adult story

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