Spring dreaming

I'm very behind on planning the garden (although we are all weeded and prepped) and I've heard rumors of a late frost this coming Tuesday so I'm OK with waiting a little bit longer. In the mean time, I'll settle for playing in the back yard and soaking up the warm with the babe who is quickly no longer a baby and my little dreamer in pink fluffy skirt.  I love to just drink them in, these two.

 

Saved by the chore chart...again!

I've always been kind of an 'all or nothing' kind of gal.  I'm either all in or all out.  Whether it's the creek, a book, playing, working, making music, and of note lately, housework.  I am, admittedly, the WORST housekeeper in the history of this house. I'm including those who have owned it before, starting in 1924, though I do not know them, with the possible exception of the band that rented out our house before we bought it and, with multiple couches on the porch, earning it the name 'The Hippie Mansion' from our neighbors.  Oh, and lets not even mention that they had a secret room in the basement that was ultra-soundproofed and had mystery lighting.  Either a band practice room or secret ganja room.  We never could decide.  But I digress.  Chores.  Yes.  The bane of my existence.

In my defense, my first foray into faux motherhood was as 'the nanny'.  A barrel of fun at someone else's house, on someone else's dime, and it usually came with maid service and a mini-van on loan!  Then I'd come home from their mansion to my little one bedroom hovel apartment and go out with friends.  Because that is what 23 year olds do when they get off of a 12 hr shift with three boy children.  I mostly only slept at that apartment.  Add to that growing up in a tiny trailer with a mob of folks and spending most of my available time out of doors, and you don't get Mad Cleaning Skills as a Girl Scout badge (not that I was one.  They just sold cookies, so I'd steal my brother's Boys Life mags and dream).

So it's just me and the Hippie Mansion now with heaps of laundry, a continually shedding dog, a cat with a laundry basket vendetta (he pees in them if they have Matt's clothes in them), a hubs who also did not earn that Girl Scout badge and two toddlers who think yogurt is for flinging.  Close your eyes and picture this and you will see my house.  My big, beautiful, rambling, fixer-upper of a house.   Then add my all or nothing mentality.  You see my dilemma now?

I've covered this topic before, and then my little chore chart sits there, ignored and useless on the fridge.  I don't know if it's spring or what, but a cleaner house calls to me, so it's back to the chore chart.  A week of following it and not getting ahead of myself gets the joint reasonably clean, keeps me reasonably sane, and I can begin the next week without the heavy scrubbing and just maintain.  It just so happened that the kids were sick this week and we couldn't really go out to infect the world with what they had.  Perfect!  You feel like vomiting and just want to sleep and not eat today?  I'll scrub the bathrooms!  My bedroom is dust free (and it was a thick coating behind things and under the bed) for the first time since...oh...Thanksgiving.  Thanks Chore Chart!  Next week I'll be back to my regularly scheduled slacking, aka "C'mon kids!  We are going to the park/pool/YMCA/friend's house!" and avoiding scrubbing the kitchen floor.  Until then let me enjoy the shine.