Tomorrow I'm hosting playgroup. Don't get me wrong, I think it's really important for me to host because first of all it's only fair and second my younger son (YS) definitely needs to work on being a gracious host and sharing his toys. It seems like the minute his brother is out of the room, he somehow adopts his persona and starts telling the cats, the dog, and I think perhaps one or two walls that the toys are his. Poor kid. However as an older sibling myself I can't help but give my older son (OS) a mental high five. Yes, I know it's wrong.
The downside of hosting, is that it required me to spend an insanely long period of time today "de-furring" my house. This is a playgroup/playdate ritual that substantial time vacuuming, mopping and wiping down counters and tables. I have given up my plans of scientifically proving this, but anecdotal evidence leaves me convinced that there is an inverse relationship between the amount of time spent cleaning and the amount of fur left in my living room: the more time I spend, I swear the more likely it is for a guest to be covered in fur. I know that doesn't seem right. It is far easier to explain the direct correlation between the amount of fur covering a guest and the skyrocketing of my heartrate.
The obvious answer would be just not to clean at all, but somehow the amount of fur is still excessive when I don't clean which is logical but defies my other previously cited experiences. I just can't figure it out. My ideal solution would be to post a sign on my door (and in my email signature) warning people that they may only wear navy blue or fleece in my house at their own risk. I could further recommend jeans (and denim jackets) as the safest clothing option. Of course, in a world of competitive stay-at-home parenting, admitting to giving in like that would be socially unacceptable.
So I spent much of the morning washing the base boards (no this isn't a regular chore) downstairs and removing a Blair Witch Project type handprint from one of my walls, and lying on my stomach sweeping out under the couches and entertainment center. When I finished, I stood up to admire my sparkling house, feeling great pride in my achievement. Then I looked down. Right on my belly was a giant dust bunny. Great. I had so little control over the dust, that it could feel safe sitting mockingly on my own body! I had failed to clean, and with the dust bunny sitting on my belly, I felt fat too. Those dust bunnies! It doesn't matter how clean I get my house; they can reduce my self esteem to nothing with one wrong hop.
Cross-posted at Formula Fed and Flexible Parenting
Having my kids playing with others sure beats computer games. Gives them the chance to upgrade their social skills.
I visited an interesting site I want to share with you the Young Entrepreneur Society from the www.YoungEntrepreneurSociety.com. A great documentary about successful entrepreneurs.
Posted by: Lamont | April 16, 2008 at 09:11 AM