I woke yesterday morning and knew that I had a lot of stuff planned. I knew that the house was a wreck - it always is on Mondays - we spend the weekend out doing various things and every SINGLE person in my house has a nasty, nasty habit of just dropping stuff wherever they happen to be. As a result, the entire house looks as if it's been toppled by a tornado. So my grand plan was to get the house straight, and I prepared the kids accordingly. We were not going anywhere all day - just cleaning. Before we started, I went downstairs - sans glasses and coffee free - to get my coffee infusion started - and stepped smack onto a piece of glass. I couldn't see it, but knew it was there and despite my repeated digging, I wasn't able to get it out. Resigned to discomfort, I updated my Facebook status to reflect my cleaning efforts - that way, I knew I'd not be able to back out - and away we went.
I worked steadily for four hours. I cleaned my closet and rearranged it so that it would flow better, and scoured my bathroom, including using using the Hints for Heloise tips on how to clean the jacuzzi jets in the tub. I've tried for two years to get that stupid tub clean - no matter what I try, the next time we try to use the tub, the jets spit out black gunk. So we just don't use it - which is a tragedy in my house. Maybe this time I was successful... I straightened bookshelves and put away piles of laundry. I pulled out clothes that I won't ever wear again and packed them up for the thrift store. In between trips downstairs, I corralled kids and sent them to their room for cleaning detail. Lather, rinse, repeat - the kids escaped again and again.
Where did all of this stuff come from? It seems that I just did a big cleaning endeavor, and yet, my downstairs hall is packed with stuff for the thrift store. I cleaned until 2:30, and then transformed into Moms taxi to deliver various people various places and do the banking and various other errands. Emma's Muay Thai class, dinner, my Capoeira class - and the day was over. But that stupid glass was still in my foot and no matter how I tried, I wasn't able to get it out.
So I sent a kid out for a Drumstick cone. I may have been exhausted from cleaning my house, annoyed that I can't get a stupid sliver of glass out of my foot - but those last two inches of a Drumstick cone (almost) made it all worth it.






