My grown stepdaughter and boyfriend fly into Austin tonight.
In preparation, Mister and I watched Meet the Parents. We took notes of what not to do.
Mister’s not going to talk about snakes or milking cats. I’m avoiding the word “pooh-poohs”, which is rather difficult considering I have two toddlers in the house.
I prepared for their arrival in other ways, as well. I cleaned both high chairs, washed the bathrooms, made cookies, bought snacks, wrote a message on the fridge using Bunder’s alphabet letters, rewrote the message after Mister chastised me, made the beds, hid some toys, etc. I reserved my final task for naptime today – SCRUB THE KITCHEN FLOOR. I thought globs of dried yogurt might gross out our guests.
Right after I lay both kids down in their separate rooms for naps, I eagerly attack the kitchen telling myself, “Your cup of tea and quiet time will be a delightful reward for cleaning the kitchen floor”. (I know that sounds a little pathetic, but I hope you other SAHM’s can relate).
Before I can wash the floor, I have to find it underneath the assorted crayons, colored pencils, stickers, toys, and dog bowls. Therefore, I pick everything up and carry a few chairs into the living room.
Afterward, I drag out the vacuum and alternate vacuuming with the hard-floor nozzle on the main areas and the straight nozzle in the corners and edges. When I make my way to the fridge, I notice the vent at the bottom is loaded with dust. I attempt to vacuum the dust, but it doesn’t budge. I kneel next to the vent, and try to remove it. It seems stuck. I lie on the floor looking for a release latch placing my face uncomfortably close to the dust and dirt. Nothing. I kneel again and give a few tugs. “Mister will kill me if I break this vent,” I half-heartedly worry as I yank harder.
The vent pops off and I place it in the sink to wash later. With the vent removed, I clearly see how inept I am at house cleaning. I start to vacuum the dust, dirt, Cheerios, and M&M’s at the front of the fridge only to discover a boatload of kids’ magnets. “Ah-ha! I’ve found the missing magnets!”
The vacuum nozzle doesn’t fit under the fridge, so I can’t easily rescue the magnets. I go searching the house for something thin enough to use under the fridge. Ideally, I’m looking for a thin yardstick, but all I can find is a yardstick in the shape of a rectangular prism (I’m showing off my third grade geometry skills).
Instead, I grab a piece of plywood from the garage. I wrestle it around the kitchen island and onto the floor. Too big! What’s thinner than plywood?
In desperation, I grab a flyswatter from under the kitchen sink. Sweet success! It’s working. I sweep the flyswatter from the far left of the fridge to the far right pushing out countless magnets covered in dust. The flyswatter isn’t quite long enough, so I grab the part used for swatting flies to extend the handle as far back as possible. I gag a little to be touching fly guts, but remind myself that I’m already nose deep in under-fridge gunk.
I vacuum the dust from the magnets before placing them in the sink with the fridge vent. Then, I vacuum the area surrounding the fridge where the dirty magnets previously lay. I crouch on the floor once more to survey the situation.
Yuck! Thick dirt mats the floor under the fridge.
I hear Kiki cry. Naptime’s over. The kitchen sink is full of magnets and one large vent.
I didn’t even start scrubbing the floor.
What's under the fridge?
Mother Ruckus 