October 26, 2012 by Julia
I know people have theoretically died of a broken heart. Sometimes I feel like I might die of cleaning. Around 5:30 pm, I can’t see my way out. The other morning I sat on an unpeeled banana that Jack had left on the couch, and I unknowingly mashed it everywhere as I wrestled a brush through the tangles in Fiona’s hair. Isn’t that a lovely image?
When they perform my autopsy next week, I assume they’ll find three causes of death:
- Exhaustion/frustration/depression due to excessive, futile exercises in cleaning house
- Sensory overload (due to nonstop needy noises and lack of personal space), resulting in my brain shutting down
A big part of this is all of the weddings this month. As I mentioned before – I LOVE being at weddings, especially when they involve people near and dear to my heart. But I hate packing. And because every time we leave the house with both kids we require 1 to approximately 20 bags, there has been a lot of packing this month. And while I pack, the kids destroy. I protect the luggage; everything else goes down the shitter. (Luckily, not literally – yet.)
One Saturday morning I was mentally immobilized by the quagmire of it all. I realized later the thing that makes packing so hard is the preparation for worst-case scenarios. And when you combine the worst-case scenarios involving children AND a wedding, that’s a lot of “just in case” crap. Fiona was going to be the flower girl, and I could imagine her rejecting her new shoes midway down the aisle (sensitive feet) and possibly throwing them at a groomsman just to make her point. Hence the 4 pairs of backup shoes that I kept moving into different bags. Should these be in my purse? They don’t fit. Put them a random plastic bag? Or a tote bag. But all of my tote bags are full. And at least with a plastic bag, everyone knows you aren’t trying. It’s just a plastic bag, not a fashion faux pas. Okay, do I need an icepack for the groomsman’s head? How will I keep the icepack cold until Fiona throws her shoes mid-ceremony? (This is my brain. This is my brain while packing for children.) Dennis asked at one point, “Do you want me to carry some bags out to the car?” and I responded, “No. What I want you to do is take me out back and shoot me.” He pointed out that we don’t actually have a backyard. Ugh! It’s always something!
Anyway, I am piecing together this blog post from other random snippets I’ve written this month, when I should be PACKING UP THE DIAPER BAG as usual. Mary Poppins had it so freaking easy. Whatever she needed was just in that magical carpetbag. God forbid I forget the Spacetime Goldfish Supremes, or whatever.
Also, this was supposed to be about death by cleaning, not packing. How about both?