Wednesday, February 13, 2013


Caleb, or Cubby, as we call him affectionately, is in that stage.  He is one now, and toddling around with a Frankenstein gait.  He primarily is using his newfound mobility to create chaos and destruction throughout the entire house.  I suspect that children are exceptionally cute at this stage just so their mothers won't give them away, free to a good home. 

Things I have cleaned today, thanks to Cubby:

--The contents of my cookie decorating bin (I used to think I only made sugar cookies at Christmas and Valentine's Day, but if you look in my cookie bin, I'll be damned if I don't have cutouts for every holiday except Mardi Gras.)

--My Tupperware cabinet (I don't mind this one so much, because kids gotta play somewhere, and this is as easy as anything else.  However, I have cleaned this up at least once a day for the last three months.  Old.)

--The diapers (He gleefully pulled out the diapers one by one and then lurched away, holding the empty packaging.)

--My folded/unfolded/refolded laundry (I could write a whole post about the horror of my clean clothes pile right now, but suffice it to say that what was clean and folded is now clean and all over my floor.)

--An entire shelf of books (My favorites, of course.  He rips them out, looks at me with a toothy grin, and then throws them over his shoulder.  And then he laughs, because, golly, isn't he clever?)

--The bin of Mardi Gras beads (from Mobile, which, dear ones, is so family friendly, and if you haven't been with your kids, you should go, because it was so much fun I could barely stand it.  We got beads, moon pies, footballs, a plastic sword, frisbees, and even ice cream sandwiches, which was awesome.  You wouldn't believe how excited you get when someone chucks a 15 cent Oriental Trading treasure your way.  Everything about it was family friendly, except for my son, Logan, who lifted up his shirt and danced with his giant belly hanging out while singing "Jingle Bells" at the top of his lungs.  We bring the Fat Tuesday with us, thanks very much.)

--The socks in the mismatched sock bin (Why do I leave this on his level?  Because I'm a glutton for this kind of cleaning, I guess.)

My goal, some day, is to get to a net positive chore effect with my kids, where the assistance they give in cleaning outweighs the giant messes they create.  I'm not sure this is realistic, but I have to dream.


Jessica said...

We're in this stage, too. Everything gets thrown. She'll dig through the laundry baskets until she finds something big enough to put over her head so she can play peek-a-boo. (Adorable, and the only reason I let her near the laundry.) She wants to climb into cupboards and closets and eat plastic bags and Legos and anything else she can get her hands on. I have to sweep the floor four times a day because either she's throwing food on it or she's finding new things to stick in her mouth. You're right; kids are very lucky they're cute at this age.