Keepin' it clean...

As I've mentioned before, I am blessed to have 3 children. A little blonde haired cheeky boy and two lovely daughters, that are full of life and personality. They are also feral. Messy, feral demons that treat their bedrooms like a wallow for their piggish escapades.

Actually, I'll stop there. My eldest is not that bad. She loves having her room clean. She takes pride in making her bed, and likes to match cushions to her bed linen. (Yes she is mine, no, I don't know where she gets it from).

My middle girl however doesn't give a toss whether her bed is made, or even has a sheet on it. She will sleep on top of Lego, barbie cars, crayons and homemade confetti. She loves to play all sorts of make believe games. Mums and Dads, Lost Kids, Schools. Her imagination is enormous. Sometimes I am in awe of it, other times I am horrified, like the time she imagined the wall beside her bed was a tissue. (I think you can guess how that went).

I have more paper in my house than Officeworks. There are sheets and scraps and strips and balls of it. Every single one drawn, scribbled or painted on. Paper is the bane of my existence. Thank god we have a Coonara. Each bit I find goes in there (along with a lot of questionable "art" from school). Yes I should put it all in scrapbooks for them to marvel and pore over in adulthood. No, I'm never going to do that.

I don't know if it's just my kids, or if I'm just REALLY incompetent and they have too much sh*t, but they are SPREADERS. Their things aren't confined to one area or space. They are spread, like butter, over every available space, nook, cranny. Lego in the bathroom, barbies in the bathroom. Hair ties between couch cushions. Socks behind the TV cabinet. Like their bedrooms have projectile vomited over the entire house.

As I write this, I'm laying on my couch. From my vantage point, I can see 11 shoes. 11. Not neatly paired up, at the back door shoes, 11 RANDOM shoes, just hanging around the house like vermin.

Am I alone? Are you reading this, judging me for being an incompetent housewife? Maybe you are. Maybe you aren't. Maybe you are nodding, saying "YES!!! The F*CKING SHOES!"

I've mentioned before that our house is small. Therefore it should be easier to keep clean. Yes? NO. I'm constantly battling piles of shit. I do pick stuff up, I promise I do, but it seems that as soon as I've picked up and redistributed each item, I turn around and more crap has spawned.

I've taken to grabbing the outdoor broom and just sweeping all the crap into a ginormous pile. I call them to the pile. I point to it. Tell them they have 5 seconds to take what they want out of it or it's all going.

Sometimes they cry. They shriek. They loudly exclaim that they need ALL of it! That it's all SPECIAL. They wade through the pile and salvage their precious sh*t from certain death.

Other times they shrug. Turn up their nose and say throw it out. That then leaves me to scrabble through the pile, rescuing silver earrings, limited edition Barbies and random UNO cards.

A lot of bloggers use their platform to give advice. To be helpful and give sage informative tidbits on how to be a better person.

Well if that's what you are looking for from ME my friends, I'm sorry, because I am a glorious f*cked up mess.

I need YOUR help. Your sage advice. Your systems, tips and tricks. Is it tubs? I heard tubs are good?

I know I need to be harder on them. They are old enough to be looking after their own belongings.

I'm begging you. Tell me. Teach me. Show me your solutions. Lead me into the light.

No info will be ignored or go unread. (Well if it involves me doing anything extra it may go unread). Ha. Kidding.

Claire x

P.S - thanks to my BFF Rachel for the pic - mine were actually half decent.