W.’s Law of Housework

There's a Murphy's-like Law-type thing that happens in my household after I've finished cleaning it. I hereby dub it, W.'s Law of Housework.

For example, it is guaranteed that within a few hours of sweeping and mopping my floors (kitchen, dining room and both hallways), they will become pock marked with spilled chocolate milk, yogurt, and various other sticky-type substances which I am unable to identify. There is usually also a weird intensity that comes with these brand new messes. Super duper thick chocolate milk puddles, yogurt dripping off the table, down the back of the chair and onto the floor. It's as if these messes are trying to make up for lost time.

Within that same time-frame, I will find pieces of cereal (of various types. Today was chocolate peanut butter Puffs) ground up into my freshly vacuumed carpets (living room or girls' bedroom. S. is not very particular about where she likes to sneak and spill food.)

Scraping dried up toothpaste off of the girls bathroom counter so that I can actually see it, ensures that it will turn into another toothpaste-y mess after having the girls spend 2 minutes in their bathroom to brush their teeth (or some such activity which resembles brushing teeth). I swear more toothpaste ends up on the counter around their sink than actually on their toothbrushes. This is why I have to keep the toothpaste on top of the fridge and ration it out when it's time for them to brush their teeth.

Consequently, I also have to ration out their body wash/shampoo. After having to replace their body wash 3 days in a row, I got smart and bought a few little travel size bottles. I put some body wash in each one, put those on top of the fridge with the original bottle, and they get one little bottle at bath time. Otherwise, all 16 oz. of wash will end up as soapy bubbles in the bath tub, and the bottle will end up on the bathroom floor. All used up and unwanted.

After I have them move their dirty clothes from their bathroom to the laundry room, different clothes, hand towels and toilet paper spring up from between the floor tiles in full bloom. I'm lucky if I can still see the floor after their baths.

Toys make their way from their bedroom to the living room. Random assortments of blocks which have been crayoned, a broken crown, and stuffed animals gather in front of the couch, as if they're trying to hide from me. Waiting to go all commando on my house cleaning ass and overtake my living room floor! Some of them never make it past the kitchen though. I think those are the toys that just weren't determined enough to stage a coup -Hell, no! We won't go- back into that toy box, bitch- but thanks for playing.

Newly scrubbed walls and bedroom furniture in the girls room almost guarantees that one of the girls (again, usually S.) will find another rogue crayon, marker, pen… whatever; and try to go all Picasso on the re-virginized whiteness surrounding their room. And their desk. And their closet door.

A. occasionally includes a signature in her bedroom wall art pieces. That's nice, because then I know who to punish. Although it's really not that hard to distinguish between A.'s works of art, and S.'s "works of art". A.'s usually has letters, and people, and arrows pointing from one thing to another (she's gotten quite fond of creating illustrated flow charts). S. just scribbles. Scribble, scribble, scribble. Sometimes they look like something, usually they don't. But she is, by far, the most prolific vandal in this house.

Also, less in the house work tangent and more in the "random ass observation" tangent-

They don't seem to understand what "quiet time" means.

Quiet time: a time in which rowdy girl chil'lins must away to their once pristine, white-walled bedroom and *gasp* BE QUIET for a little bit. So that I, the mater familias, may enjoy the sounds of the keyboard tip-tapping (if that) and nothing else.

I have explained to them the rules. Numerous times, even.

"Its quiet time, girls. That means you go into your rooms, and you. Be. Quiet."

It is as if I'm speaking to them in Esperanto, but they only understand the black-hole-space-quark-left-of-Milky-Way dialect of martian-ese.

And of course, this means that they pounce in and out of their bedroom, grabbing at each other's arms in the hallway and bossing each other around- loudly.

This also means that occasionally A. will yell out, "Is quiet time over yet?"

Uh, did it ever really begin?!?!

I think W.'s Law can really be summed up in this way:

An object or space which has been thoroughly cleaned will remain cleaned only in the event that children have grown up and moved out of the house. Even then, a perpetually clean house will only remain such if said children have clothing washers and dryers in their own "spaces" (home, apartment, dorm room, rv trailer) and which they have been thoroughly trained in its proper daily operation, thereby eliminating the need to come home and toss five weeks worth of reeking laundry onto the floor for mom to do.

Note to the college kids: Using the washing machine to make moonshine is not considered proper usage of such appliances.