The Sound Of Retreat

Ever since The Battle Hymn Of A Tiger Mother was published, I kind of wanted to find my own battle hymn to march to.  So, I thought about it and thought about it.  The best I could come up with was The Maddening Rants Of The Chihuahua Mom. 

In all honesty, I have no battle hymn.  My soundtrack is more like the kind of background noise you hear on those Japanese obstacle course game shows.  And somewhere along the lines I end up slimed.

I'm more of a disorganized frazzled cluttered mess of a Mom.  When the automatic doors to my swagger wagon open, something usually falls out.  Laundry is always a mountain range that rivals the Himalayas.  And my routine still involves a great deal of distraction and then a defeated procrastination.

My mornings are sleepy kids, forced teeth brushing, and a long desire to get them out the door.  There is no squeezing in an extra twenty minutes of cardio, or listening to Izzy belt out a fantastic rendition of whatever on her trumpet.  Goodness, no, we sooo do not need that at 6:30.

I then spend a ridiculous amount of time surveying the damage, and agonizing over where I should start.  I would love to vacuum, but that would require clearing out the wreckage that was yesterday afternoon. 

I have chore charts, and even a home management binder.  I make a weekly menu, for meals.  And I even purge on a regular basis.  Yet my home resembles a toysr'us from tornado alley more than it does a pottery barn catalog.

I envy the Mom's who show up to volunteer at school all done up, usually I am the one that shows up with wet hair and a wrinkled top.  But hey, I showered!

After school is filled with negotiations and conquering the latest of school projects.  Snacks, are planned out but not always executed in the manner in which I had intended. 

I mean well, but there is a missing variable in my algorithm that causes a great deal of chaos to not be contained.

I'm great at creating paper bombs and color coded laundry piles.  I rock it out when it comes to losing permission slips.  And I am very accomplished at forgetting to leave the door unlocked so the tooth fairy can get in.  There were a few times where I also told the tooth fairy the wrong kid, in regards to who lost a tooth most recently. 

So, there you have it.  We are the house with the not so well maintained lawn.  Inside you will see a cluster of Legos and Barbie explosions.  Lunch dishes are still in the sink, and somewhere I am searching for that permission slip so one of the kids can go with their class somewhere.  Oh wait, I know where it is, I sent it in with Moops!  Too bad it was intended for Izzy.

Doh!

We seem to be happy though.  Imaginations are in charge and while I live in a virtual battle ground, littered with Lego Shrapnel and Popsicle stick earthworks.  I have convinced myself that all of our clutter is more for security purposes than it is lack of consistency in regards to picking up after ourselves.  After all, what kind of criminal picks the house where he can't get in and out without tripping over shoes, toys and backpacks?