Remember Sisyphus? That cunning heel who was hauled off to Hades for a being a cheating trickster? His punishment was worse than languishing in the August in North Carolina temperatures in Hades. Sisyphus is the guy who worked for eternity pushing a massive boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back down again. Eternity is a long freakin' time. Like in forever. Always. E-T-E-R-N-I-T-Y. Imagine this: Roll the rock. Sweat. Cuss. Growl. Cuss some more. Feel sense of relief upon getting to the top of the hill. Wipe brow. Try to rest on a burned out stump somewhere. Think for a narcissistic moment that your quads and biceps will be chiseled after all this. Bask in glory for a fleeting millisecond. Rock rolls back down the hill. You look after it, feeling forlorn, worn out, pissed. Cuss. Cuss. Cuss. And so it goes on for Sisyphus...
I'm beginning to think that the routine of parenthood is a lot like the life of Sisyphus, minus those nasty images of hell and the punishment, of course. That's not to say that life isn't hellish at times, because it most definitely is. I just feel like as soon as I get the rock to the top of the hill the damn thing rolls back down. Literally two minutes after the cleaning lady has left, the house is a minefield of Matchbox cars and Happy Meal toys. Damn Mac Daddy for getting all those free toys at work and feeling the overwhelming urge to bring them home. I don't even get a chance to breathe in the delicious just-cleaned-smell before I'm busy wiping up spilled milk that Deal literally cries over. He gets further agitated when I laugh at the ridiculousness of it. And for the record, Bird and Deal are not wholly responsible for the mess. I mean, does Mac Daddy not understand what the hooks in the mudroom are for (one specifically for keys)? The back of the kitchen chair and somewhere in the vicinity of the phone are not the appropriate places for storing his coat and keys (especially when the coat is suede and the keys are in tauntingly close reach of a 2-year old). Argh.
A Day in the Life of Sisyphus at Chez Dirt & Noise:
Clean up a poopy mess in Spiderman underwear that are now deemed unsalvagable. Potty training Deal is a whole other blog post that I can't bring myself to deal with. Pardon the pun. Bathe Deal since he is coated in poop. Find change of clothes that fit his ever-growing frame.
Help Bird wipe his bottom and fetch him dingleberry-free change of underwear. At least the Superman ones he had on are salvagable.
Cat throws up in four different places upstairs. It becomes a game to find the Casey puke without stepping in it. Clean it up while keeping kids and cat away from the yuck. (Incidentally, we found another pile of puke weeks, yes weeks, later caked on the floor of the guest room. Don't worry, Mom it wasn't while you were here.
Disinfect tub. Toss in a load of laundry. Throw what was in the dryer onto the pile of laundry the size of Grimace on the guestbed.
Speed shower. Wipe on Lash Exact black mascara (the BEST!) and Smashbox lip gloss so I can feel like a real human being.
Clean up toys that littered my room in the three minutes I was in the shower.
Remake the bed that Bird and Deal were wrestling on after throwing toys on the floor got boring.
Gather the troops to go on an adventure. Get downstairs, put on shoes and coats. Forgot to brush teeth.
Brush teeth while wearing shoes and coats despite the boys' lack of mobility bundled up in a down coat.
Trek back downstairs and get the bag of snacks and tricks ready.
Feeling pretty good now, just like Sisyphus must have felt as he approached the top of the hill.
"Moooommmmmm! Casey pooped in the living room! And the playroom! And in another place in the playroom!"
"Change me, Mommy. I'm poopy."
And so it goes, the damn rock rolled back to the bottom.
Cuss. Cuss. Cuss.
Cross posted at Dirt & Noise.