“Mommy. I help. Dere’s dog poop.”
What? Where? Where is it?
“I get it Mommy, with the green one.”
The green one what? What are you getting? Where are you going?
As my one and only son came waltzing into the kitchen dragging the mop behind him I had a quick glimpse of what the day’s chores were going to entail, and I briefly wished I had waited for naptime…
For the record:
1) There is no dog poop in my house. Contrary to the toddler-imagination, that’s all outside.
2) A dry mop will suffice for “helping” when Mommy is using the swiffer.
3) When the chairs are moved to create cleaning space they immediately become the most dangerous play-set in the world.
4) On said playset, toddlers achieve an amazing amount of courage. No son, you may not jump from chair to chair to couch to bench. Get. Down.
5) Cleaning with a toddler’s help is like having a giant glitter bomb or playing 52-pickup. It’s fun for a minute, then you realize there’s so much more to clean.
Daddy was working on the yard outside and Bubba decided he wanted to go help. Have at it, Buddy- sayonara son, good luck Daddy. Knowing that I had at least ten uninterrupted minutes, Little Bear was sleeping, I thought I’d run through and quickly clean the bathrooms. I’ve got to get it in when I can these days. After that, I figured I’d walk on the wild side and clean the kitchen. Counters first, nothing like cleaning the floor, then the counters only to realize there are now crumbs on the floor again. I’ve made that mistake before, so counters first and then the floor. Blast, I wasn’t quick enough, Daddy had started the lawnmower so in came Bubba, as if his pants were on fire. He likes big machines, he just likes them when they’re quiet. Or very. far. away. This led to the doggy-doo comments as apparently that’s what they were cleaning up outside, time to wash hands, my friend, and then the introduction of the mop into the repertoire of tools. Shortly, after several laps around the kitchen and multiple swipes through the already collected pile of crumbs, thankfully, Bubba lost interest in the mop. He left it precariously perched across the kitchen floor just out of easy sight and made his way to the jungle-gym-of-pain, also known as the kitchen chairs. Here he proceeded to jump-slide-fall and wiggle into the most uncomfortable of spaces periodically shouting “Hewp me, Mommy!” and “I alwight.” Until he lost interest in that activity too.
Then, it got quiet.
I, foolishly, did not recognize the danger of a quiet toddler.
When I turned my attention to the eerily quiet family room, I spotted Bubba, with the entire collection of Preschool-Prep DVDs, out of their cases and strewn about the coffee table and floor. Totally my fault, I should have put them out of reach and perked up when he got quiet. Ahh toddlers, we have happy-giggle-filled houses with them, but clean-fingerprint-free houses without them. I’ll take the giggles and fingerprints, any day. Back to cleaning.