It’s a lazy Sunday morning. The bright light shines through my bedroom window urging me to rise and get started on the "to do" list that I mentally noted in my head. After puttering around my room tidying, shaking out my duvet and fluffing my pillows, I made my way toward the bathroom, and then I saw it.
As I walked past the study room I saw the trash in "The Invisible Bin." I suspect, if you're a mom reading this blog an explanation is not required. For those who aren't familiar with this term, the invisible bin is the space on the floor that exists; a space children think is a perfectly acceptable place to drop their trash or dirty clothes. If I can elaborate even more, it's also the countertop next to the dishwasher where the dirty dishes are left. The extra step of actually opening the dishwasher and placing the bowl on the rack is unheard of for these rogue creatures. It's a mystery really.
Some of the reasons I hear from my children are "I thought I got it in," "someone must have moved it," or my personal favourite "it's not mine." These are all common excuses that are inherent in kids. At least this is what I say to convince myself that it can't just be my offspring. Or can it be? I remember years ago cleaning garbage from behind my sofa in the basement and asking my son who was 3 years old at the time (now sixteen) if he was responsible for the mess? With the sweetest voice and most angelic smiling face he answered, "yes mommy, that was me but I really think you should put a garbage can back there so there won't be so much for you to clean." That crafty little cutie has been using his charm on me ever since.
Now let me back it up to the part where I said I was on my way to the bathroom to begin my morning ritual before getting to my "to do" list which included, working out, completing a good chunk of final edits for Forever Eve and writing this blog. Alas the cosmic force of “The Invisible Bin” is undeniable. I was sucked into the abyss of Sunday cleaning. This total shift in task prioritizing for the day had taken on new life. By picking up that one piece of trash it manifested into an unavoidable infliction of cleaning OCD. Toilets and tubs were scrubbed. Closets were ripped apart and donation bags lined the hallway. I vacuumed up enough dog hair to make a third dog. Three loads of laundry completed -- that all belong to the tsunami that is my twelve year old daughter.
Am I complaining? Not in the least. The chaos propels my motivation. It keeps my brain sharp. With Vivaldi on the turntable blasting through the speakers, I continued full speed ahead. Every half hour or so I would stand in front of my laptop and edit a couple of paragraphs that I’m sure will require a re-read or two. It's now 9:30pm and I’m sitting in another cold arena watching my son play hockey. I got very little editing done today but the upside to my freezing tush is that I'm finally composing this blog on my phone. I wouldn't change a second of it; this daily diversion that is my family. My kids are my masterpiece. #mommylife #lifeofawriter