The Bearded Iris

A Recalcitrant Wife and Mother Tells All

Tag: vomit

The Booger Heard ‘Round the World

Two bloggers. Two different hemispheres. One vision (largely impaired by too much clutter, dirt, and booze). Exposed for all the world to see as Housekeepers of Ill-Repute, Proprietresses of Dubious Maternal Instinct, and Woefully Neglectful Wives.

Here they are, flashing their dirty bits in the first of three simultaneous postings. Click here to read the sister-post.

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It all started with a booger.

A single booger, which I found stuck to a semi-freshly painted wall in one of my kids’ bedrooms.

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What? Can’t see it? Oh sorry… let me help you with that:

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It was the proverbial straw that broke this camel’s back. That wall is painted with Behr Premium Plus paint in Shortgrass Prairie, 760D-5. It is my favorite paint color in the whole house. My husband and I lovingly painted that room as a peace offering to our oldest child for having to switch bedrooms when our third and final baby was a few weeks shy of  becoming a “fire in the hole!”

I noticed that booger the other day and bitched about it via email to a fellow mother/blogger friend I had recently met through the wonders of the Internet. “Not Drowning Mother” or “NDM” was very empathetic. “Kids are disgusting,” she agreed. Even Australian kids, it turns out. She said “I’ll see your booger and raise you a whole Wall of Mysteries, showcasing a full range of human excretia.” And thus, a plan for a tell-all “simulpost” was hatched.

However, there was so much material that we decided it wasn’t fair to only focus on the kiddies and their nastiness. We would have to out ourselves as well. And in addition, why stop at only housecleaning (or lack thereof)… we also found loads of common foibles in the areas of child rearing and husband tending. But for simplicity, we decided to break it into three separate simultaneous, intercontinental, photo-filled posts.

So here is my portion of part one. A photo-essay on the squalor in which I live. Some of it is kid-induced. Most of it is my own damn fault. All of it is bad enough that I actually did apply to be a home on “Oprah’s Clean Up Your Messy House Tour,” and they actually ARE considering me as a potential guest for the show. No lie. But I don’t want to jinx it, so let’s just leave it at that for now.

Oh, one more thing. You may be wondering why on Earth we would choose to air our dirty laundry like this, and why now? It’s simple, really. A new year begins tomorrow. A new year filled with the promise for change. I am always abuzz with excitement at this time of year! Excited for the potential for living a better life and creating a better life for my family. But I am also a real fan of using one’s talents and treasures to help others. Thus, if I can help even one overwhelmed woman to feel better about her life by comparing herself to the trainwreck that is my home… well, so be it. You are welcome, overwhelmed woman! You are clearly not alone. But you better get on the stick, lady… because I am seriously going to get my shit in order this year. I fucking mean it this time. And once I do, you WILL be alone. So join me, won’t you? Let’s turn over a new leaf (or scrape an old booger off the wall) together.

And now, more proof that your home is cleaner than mine:

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, my kids fingerpaint with toothpaste on you to have a ball!"

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, my kids fingerpaint with toothpaste to have a ball!"

...but why stop at mirrors? Every surface in my home is a canvas for dirty, sticky fingers.

...but why stop at mirrors? Every surface in my home is a canvas for dirty, sticky fingers.

Every surface is an equal-opportunity canvas. Yeah, that's a permanent marker. Good times.

Every surface is an equal-opportunity canvas. Yeah, that's a permanent marker. Good times.

never a dull moment, or surface...

never a dull moment, or surface...

Alright, let me explain. I was worried that NDM was going to show me up with her Wall of Mysteries, so I went on a fact finding mission to locate anything of equal nastiness. It didn’t take long. Here you see a permanent party favor from Klepto’s not-so-recent bout with the stomach bug. Yes, friends, that is the “popcorn” ceiling in the master bathroom, and the stains you see are the remains of her regurgitated cheeseburger. Beat *that*, NDM!
But they don't only create messes... sometimes they help me clean too. See? No rinsing required.

But they don't only create messes... sometimes they help me clean too. See? No rinsing required.

Typical kitchen counter any given day... notice clothes, crafting supplies, dirty dishes, an iPod, food...

Typical kitchen counter any given day... notice clothes, crafting supplies, dirty dishes, an iPod, food...

... the aftermath of letting Bucket Head help me unload the dishwasher. This should really be filed under "Good Parenting" and not "Kids are disgusting."

... the aftermath of letting Bucket Head help me unload the dishwasher. This should really be filed under "Good Parenting" and not "Kids are disgusting."

drowning in a sea of dog hair and dust bunnies.

... poor Ernie: drowning in a sea of dog hair and dust bunnies.

... my "craft corner" in the basement... only it is too messy to work in, so I have taken over every other surface in the house. You can see where my kids get it...

... my "craft corner" in the basement... only it is too messy to work in, so I have taken over every other horizontal surface in the house. You can see where my kids get it... bad Mommy. Bad, bad Mommy.

I've taken over the dining room table as well...

... underneath this mountain is our dining room table. Who has time to put things away with all this writing and crafting and present wrapping and booger scraping to do?!

Wow. That’s impressive, even for me. Who else do you know with a six year old plaster casting of her breasts and pregnant belly just sitting on the dining room table? I’d love to take credit for the gorgeous Mermaid-Nymph painting on that belly, but I commissioned an incredibly talented artist/sistah/friend to do it. I have BIG plans to turn that sucker into a night-light for Klepto’s room. Yeah, plans that have been in my head for 6 years. Sigh. Which reminds me…

"Iris, telephone! It's Oprah. She is repulsed by your messiness and thinks the rest of America will be too."

"Iris, telephone! It's Oprah."

“Take a message, dammit. I’m writing.”
Yeah. Right. Happy New Year, ya’ll! And happy cleaning!

©2008 The Bearded Iris

Motivation

When I’m lounging around in my boudoir slippers eating Bonbons and neglecting my household duties, I love to watch reality TV shows about cleaning and organizing one’s home. I justify this because I usually learn a few house cleaning and organizing tips that I might actually use someday if I ever get my ass off the couch.  

There are a bunch of these shows, ya’ll. Isn’t cable TV the best?! Neat with Hellen Buttigieg is just fabulous. She is a professional organizer and life coach who can totally transform someone’s house, life, and spouse in 30 minutes or less, in a heartbreakingly compassionate way while wearing sassy high heeled boots.  Mission Organization on HGTV is always educational, but not quite as good as Neat. Clean House! (the one with the sassy host, Niecy Nash from Reno 911!) is OK in small doses (mainly because of Nash), but the show is way too long and the annoying fools they help really burn my biscuits with their stubbornness. My absolute fave is How Clean Is Your House? on the BBC. The hosts, Aggie and Kim, are just to-die-for-hilarious. I do love me some dirty Brit humor (I mean, humour). But also, I love this show because it always makes me feel like my house is (and therefore, I am) “not that bad.” Yes, I have clutter. Yes, there are dog hair tumbleweeds rolling across my hardwood floors.  Yes, I am completely incapable of seeing a load of laundry all the way through to completion. What’s your point?  We all have our strengths – and mine just so happen to be makin’ and birthin’ babies, shakin’ my groove thang, and whistling with my fingers loud enough to bring every stray dog in the neighborhood to my side. Keeping a tidy home is not one of my natural gifts. But I do try. I do.  (When I’m not eating Bonbons, watching the tube, or airing my dirty laundry on the Internet.) I try, because I believe with all my heart that if only I could get my shit together, I could achieve my potential, and help my husband and children to achieve theirs’. It is good to have dreams and goals. Don’t you agree?

So yes, I watch enough of these shows to know that I am not technically a compulsive hoarder, but that my home is also light years away from being on the cover of Real Simple or Southern Living. I also read enough “How to Get Organized” books to know that my bedroom in particular is not the peaceful, romantic haven it should be. It is a veritable dumping ground: laundry piles in various stages of completion, boxes and garbage bags full of out-of-season clothes, piles of clothes destined for charity, a box of children’s books that need a home, a pile of brand new kid clothes from my Mom that I need to exchange because they don’t fit properly, and more. Of course this is totally my fault. The Gatekeeper reminds me quite frequently that if I would just put things away when I am done with them, it would make a huge difference.  But what he fails to take into account is that I also have an 18 month old whose raison d’être is to pick up random objects and relocate them to the strangest of places and a kleptomaniacal labrador retriever who steals and stashes loot in various hideaways, his favorite being under my bed.  So, in addition to the massive quantities of dog hair and clean laundry, one is also likely to find a vast assortment of Little People (the toys, not the dwarves), kitchen tools, important MIA paperwork, dirty socks and undies (the stinkier, the better, says the dog), stuffed animals, numerous lift-the-flap-books, two sippy cups full of a solid grayish-yellow cheesy substance that was probably milk several weeks ago, toothbrushes, shredded Ziploc baggies that once contained Goldfish or Graham crackers, and one raw potato (glad I caught that one early), randomly distributed throughout my “safe haven.”  

This is no way to live. I know this. My research tells me there are numerous reasons why one should create and maintain a peaceful, clutter free bedroom:

  • you will sleep better and have more energy.
  • you will be healthier…less dust = easier breathing.
  • you will be calmer and better able to relax in a clutter-free space.
  • you will feel more amorous in a clean bedroom. More sex = better life quality.  
  • you will not be embarrassed when your kids take friends in there to look for the cat.
  • you will set a good example for your children on how to have a clean room.  
  • you won’t stub your toe on the clutter and inadvertently teach your toddler to scream “FUCK!!!!!!”

Well, last night I realized one more very good reason to keep one’s room clean. Pay attention now…the universe doesn’t reveal this kind of message every day, you know:  

CLEAN YOUR ROOM!  If your bedroom is clean and clutter-free when your five year old shows up next to your bed at 1:30 AM with her little hands clutched over her mouth and a look of sheer terror in her eyes, there won’t be so many surfaces to scrub after the projectile vomit starts to fly like a lidless-blender-full-o-cheeseburger-smoothie.

I knew this girl had talent, but I had no idea she could do such a spot-on impression of Linda Blair in the Exorcist. I’m not kidding about the cheeseburger smoothie. The night before was my oldest son’s birthday dinner of choice: cheeseburgers, curly fries, cooked carrots, and chocolate cake. The partially digested combo: ewwww. Luckily for you, I did NOT have my camera nearby. But since I do like to illustrate my stories with colorful eye-candy, my BFF and personal paparazzo just so happened to recently catch me playing with some industrial cleaning supplies at the county fairgrounds. Don’t ask. We were bored…and high.  

Enough gratuitous flat-ass-with-mop shots. Back to my poor, sick, baby girl. This stomach flu is bad, ya’ll. She can’t keep a thing in either end of her little body. And I know it is the flu and not some kind of food poisoning because she has graciously shared it with the rest of us over time and now we are all making up new verses to the “Diarrhea Boom Boom” song.  

There is something good to come out of this though. I had to stick her in my tub last night (actually early this morning) to wash the vomit from her hair. (Wow, total college flashback!) And while she was soaking in there and rhythmically retching into a bucket, I used that time to clean my bathroom. Lord, by the time I got us both undressed, there was vomit all over the toilet. There was vomit on the Venetian blinds next to the toilet. There was vomit on the wallpaper, the door jamb, and the floor. And that is just the bathroom. Let’s not forget that the vomiting actually started next to my bed in the next room. So, as if my master suite wasn’t due for a thorough cleaning anyway, this little episode made it painfully clear that there was no time like the present to scrub a dub dub.  

But now my bathroom is clean and fresh. And after I wash the vomit off my comforter today and clean the carpet, I will address the bags and boxes that were unfortunately on the floor near my bed last night.  And once I wipe them down, I will load them into the van and get them out of my house. It shall be done.

Motivation: it doesn’t really matter if it is invited or not…I’m just glad it shows up to play once in a while. Welcome, Motivation! I’m glad you’re here. In fact, stay for a while, why don’tcha. I’ll bake us a cake.   

If you’ve never seen How Clean Is Your House?, here is a little snippet. Great show.    

Don’t cook. Don’t clean. No man will ever make love to a woman
because she waxed the linoleum – “My God, the floor’s immaculate. 
Lie down, you hot bitch.”
  ~Joan Rivers

I’m not going to vacuum until Sears makes one you can ride on.  ~Roseanne Barr

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