I wanted sweet baby clothes that gave way to tennis shoes and blue jeans. I wanted monster truck toys and baby dolls, and I didn't care who played with which. I wanted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with goldfish crackers. I wanted hugs and kisses, and little arms around my neck with little voices that said, "I love you".
I wanted books and drawings. I wanted water color paintings of sunshine and flowers. I wanted notebooks holding girly secrets. And little books full of secret codes for playing spy.
I wanted all of these things and so much more. It's why I wanted kids. But let me tell you what I didn't expect:
- Dried up bowls of cereal hiding under beds.
- clothes stuffed into every available nook and cranny, because the laundry shoot that is less than five steps from any of their rooms, is just too gosh darned far away.
- Shoes behind my couch. I'm not even sure whose.
- Toys everywhere from under their beds, to under mine. Just not in the toy boxes, because that would be crazy.
- Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches...under a couch cushion.
- Snack trash, under their pillows.
- Books in every room of the house, but rarely on the bookshelves where they belong.
- Drawings and paintings that can't be thrown away, but can't be kept anywhere organized, either.
- Dishes....behind the dresser in their room.
- Toast, behind the toilet. Because...why? I don't know. Just because.
- Bedding that starts to smell like stinky butt cheese because the kids don't want to shower.
I wanted so much to have children. And I will admit that, despite the many hours spent caring for other people's kids before I had my own, I had NO idea how truly gross they could be.
I cleaned out my daughters' room in frustration today. I didn't look in their closet. I need a drink before I tackle that challenge. Who wants to bring me some Moscato?