In my kitchen, we have an island. Well, it might not be just an island. It has special magnetic powers that draw bits of everything to it. And not just one particular form of matter. It invites everything, from baskets to batteries, bills to school papers, hair accessories, crayons, markers, party invitations, pieces of my son’s Bionicles. The list goes on. Though you’d have to dig for it under a big pile of, well, crap. And, yes, I’m ashamed of this counter. Ashamed and also oblivious much of the time. Most of the time, even. When I notice it, I think I really ought to get to that. I really ought to organize it somehow. The inevitable questions after are But how? and Where the hell do I start?
So. Today my 6 year old daughter was looking for the scotch tape. I suggested that she look in the 2 or 3 likely places she may have left it. She was grumpy already, and didn’t feel much like looking for the tape herself. I asked her if she had looked yet on the kitchen island (where I could swear I saw it not long before, near the edge of the counter. Probably getting up the nerve to jump.). Her answer? A sing-song, hip thrust out, hand on her hip, taunt: “You mean the LAZY MOMMY COUNTER?”
To her benefit, she was standing at least 10 feet away from me. It saved her from being scooted to her room, heels dug in, with me nudging (yeah, nudging…let’s go for the euphemism) her toward a good long spell in her room. So I gasp: “(insert her name here, with a lot of these: !!!!!!!)” She wasn’t done. Guess I didn’t see the one-two punch coming. “Well, YOU never. Ever. Clean it!”Lucky for her, the universe intervened on her behalf, and she was allowed to transport her own little backside to her room, unaided by me, unless you count sonic force.
If FlyL*dy, whoever she is, is reading this, yeah, I know it shouldn’t be that hard to keep one kitchen counter clean. But it is. At least for me. The reasons for this are imbedded in my personality somewhere, and they are stubborn, thorny sons of bitches. And, according to new research conducted by my VBF and lovingly passed on, my chakras may be blocked or out of balance. Or just a big damn mess altogether. There’s a book I need to read (and I will) and work I need to do (I will…?).
Over the next hour or so, I felt guilty about the messy counter and plotted how I might go about organizing it. (I also have to laugh at my girl’s clever nature–pretty quick thinking to come up with Lazy Mommy counter on the fly.) Then I thought, Ya know, what does it say if I just go and clean the counter after B sassed me like that? So I’m going to wait, maybe 2 to 3 days. Weeks? No, days. I’m planning a trip to T*rget, where they have some organizing stuff. Well, I’ve heard that anyway. THEN I’ll clean the counter. Happiness will ring throughout the land. My husband will think I’m evolving as a person. I suppose we’ll all be happier, just like the people on Clean Sweep, et al. Maybe I will even post before and after photos.
If I could just find the damn camera.