“Dad, The Couch Is Upside Down.”

Let’s review Greek mythology for a moment:

King Sisyphus died, tricked his way out of Hades, and came back to life again. Twice.  Then he died a third time and, much like a good arena rock band, called it quits after the second encore.  As punishment, Zeus sentenced him to endlessly push a bolder up a mountain.  When Sisyphus was almost at the top, he’d slip, the boulder would roll back down the bottom, and he’d start all over again.  Repeat forever.

I bring this up only because I think that fate read a little differently in ancient Greece, an era when laundry was generally cleaned on the same schedule I use for changing the battery in my smoke detector.

My dishwasher is now running for the second time today and somehow the sink is still full to the brim with dirty plates.  Also, there’s 3 loads of laundry to be folded, I need to go grocery shopping, and the kids’ room is so messy it could probably qualify for international relief aid.  I’ve done all these chores in the last 48 hours, but somehow they went from ‘finished’ to ‘alarmingly behind’ without a step in between. 

Is it too late to get set up with a nice rock pushing gig?

I knew that the chores would be pretty intense when I became a stay at home dad, but I don’t think I realized just how intense a mess two kids and a cluttery spouse can produce.  I pick up the same dozen stuffed animals so many times in the course of a day that if my toddler had a Chucky-style haunted doll that was just walking around the house on its own, I don’t think I’d notice.  If it ever did any creepy stuff, I’d be too focused on cleaning up after it for the scare to sink in.

“Somebody wrote ‘Revenge never dies’ on the mirror AGAIN?!  I’m gonna run out of Windex before the end of the week at this rate.”

^{“It’s playtime… I said, ‘It’s playtime‘ … It’s playt–HEY, PUT THE LAUNDRY BASKET DOWN AND PAY ATTENTION!”}

Today is the last day before the kids go back to school after Christmas break, and looking around my house feels like I’m getting ready to put post-World War II Europe back together.  The buildup of clutter seems almost unreal.  There’s clothes in the laundry hamper I haven’t worn since the Bush administration.  I think there’s a sweater in there that might’ve drifted in from an alternate dimension.

I honestly don’t know how other people keep their living spaces in order beyond just staying on top of basic chores.  Forget window-washing and yard work; I struggle enough just to keep everyone in clean clothes and eating something besides a diet exclusively consisting of Pop Tarts and Lunchables.  …Emphasis on ‘exclusively,’ by the way; I’m in no position to badmouth a Pop Tart.  I’m just satisfied if I can serve at least something in the course of a day that didn’t come out of an industrial fabricator.

How do people find time for stuff besides the baseline, though?  Like, where does the time and motivation for yardwork come from?  My neighbor across the street has 2 kids under 8 and still finds time to rake 2-3 times per week.  By the time I get down to raking on my to-do list, my trees will all look like the gray stumps dotting that sad, barren wasteland from “The Lorax.”

^{On the far end of town, untouched through the years,
the leaves on Matt’s lawn are piled up to your ears.}

It’s not from a lack of desire, either.  I like having a clean, orderly lawn.  I like having a fridge with space for groceries instead of just old takeout containers and like 30 varieties of hot sauce.  I like a vacuumed floor.  Hell, I LIKE VACUUMING.  It’s quick, easy, it makes the dog go bananas…there’s way worse chores you can get stuck with.

…but even for being quick and easy, it’ll never reach the top of the priority list faster than kids can create emergency cleanup jobs.  Ditto the raking.  Ditto cleaning out the fridge.  A bored kid with a box of art supplies will always create a better mess.

“Dad, I was painting a picture for you and all my paints fell on the carpet.”
“Dad, I knocked over the kitchen trashcan and now there’s garbage everywhere.”
“Dad, the couch is upside down.”

That last one isn’t a joke. That happened.  I went to the bathroom, and when I came back my daughter (6 at the time) was sitting astride the defeated corpse of my couch watching cartoons.  She didn’t even offer an explanation, just “The couch is upside down.”  No details.  No preamble.  Just a simple, emotionless statement, like a column of smoke announcing the election of a new pope.

Maybe school resuming tomorrow will open up enough time to beat back the mess a little.  I’m skeptical, but not totally counting out the possibility.  Maybe I’ll fold all the clothes, wash all the sheets, sweep the tile, vacuum the carpet, and carry all the scattered toys back to their rooms of origin.

…But the perfect Marie Kondo house isn’t happening.  I won’t reorganize my chaotic kitchen cabinets.  I won’t box up all the kids clothes that don’t fit anymore.  My closets will stay disorganized, my fence will remain unpatched, and the mice in my garage will all look like the old rat from “The Secret of NIMH” before I ever get out there to set up traps.

^{“Our legends tell of peanut butter atop boards of death, but none still live who have seen them.”}

I don’t know if I’m just way worse at keeping a house than everyone else, but I honestly suspect the rest of you are in this boat, too.  It’s probably easier to hide if you don’t write a column on the subject.  I just wanted to offer a message of solidarity and say that you’re not the only one struggling to keep-

…hold that thought, I gotta roll: I think I just heard a couch flipping over.

_{Feel free to buy me a cup of coffee at paypal.me/inessentialreading if you enjoyed the column.}