Force fields, chaos and family

In BountifulChaos-land there are many mysteries. Time manages to pass too quickly. Weeks zip by and suddenly it’s the weekend again. Children grow into young women, dogs suddenly have gray around their noses. Mom magically has a tummy and realizes she will never be called young, or cute, ever again. The Man of the House somehow watches more football than he plays in the backyard.

The days of homework, housework, holidays, everydays, school and rehearsals, church and work, hours volunteered, school lunches packed daily and dinners as a family – all vibrate together in a pulsating hum of living, of chaos.
It’s the same hum, I think, as the one generated by the invisible force field surrounding all the toilets –or loos for my Brit friends – in my home.

wub-wub. wub-wub. wub-wub.

Some of you may recognize the hum – it surrounds areas of your otherwise pleasant and cozy home that are only accessible to Moms. Like the aforementioned toilets. And toilet paper roll holders. And all towel racks and hooks. And laundry.

In my home, a very special force field has developed around all three toilets. When we bought our 100-year-old home, I thought I was oh-so-fortunate to have found a remodeled and upgraded gem with three bathrooms for our growing family. At the time, I rejoiced. Now, I realize that three toilets and two children equals constant maintenance – not the scrubbing and swabbing kind, oh no – I’m talking about breaking through the force field for the big stuff. Unflushed number twos. Exactly why pee is easier to flush, I’m uncertain. This force field, I’ve discovered, is particularly stubborn and prone to leaving skid marks on the porcelain. I have yet to take this force field down, but its ravages are easily remedied with big, stinky, blue tablets – they stain your fingers, stain the inside of your toilet tank and blessedly, cover all manner of ills.

wub-wub. wub-wub. wub-wub.

Then, there’s the big one – the replacing of the toilet paper rolls. I’ve explained it, demonstrated the process, left sticky notes with instructions and extra rolls nearby. There have even been family meetings called in the name of the loo roll. I currently have an animated PowerPoint Presentation in progress in fact, but I despair that anyone in my humble abode will ever replace an empty roll with a crisp, cotton-smelling new one. Ever.

wub-wub. wub-wub. wub-wub.

While I have capitulated to the TP, I may never stop trying to eliminate the force field around all things laundry-like. Clean laundry, smelling strongly of Purex and bleach, can languish at the foot of a child’s bed for days on end. I’ve made my midnight “mommy rounds” and discovered one of my little darlings curled up into a tight ball on their pillow – carefully avoiding the clean laundry, stacked and sorted for them and lovingly placed at the foot of the bed. I believe my youngest, the Princess, holds the record for this laundry avoidance tactic at two weeks. Of course, she is also the shortest member of the family, so her prowess at laundry co-sleeping might have more to do with size than skill.

wub-wub. wub-wub. wub-wub.

My eldest, Doodlebug, is the queen of mating clean laundry with a dirty carpet. Purex-scented crystals and their saturating fury be damned. Her filing system is all her own, no one else can decipher which of the pieces strewn across the Berber expanse is clean or dirty. And, while the youngest has great aim at hitting the old laundry basket – thinking dirty undies in particular are nasty – the eldest suspiciously wears the same school logo tee over and over. Ad nauseam. I’m not sure I’ve washed it yet this school year, to be honest. I’m actually waiting for the shirt to walk out of her school on its own one day, leaving Doodlebug behind. I am not entirely positive she knows where the laundry basket is, either. Perhaps a second PowerPoint Presentation is in order?

wub-wub. wub-wub. wub-wub.

There is another force field at play in our cozy American foursquare. It is a movable feast of cotton, gallons of bleach and the constant, nose-burning smell of mildew. I can see some of you nodding as you read this, yes, the force field is in existence for me, too – I call it the wet towel conundrum. I have yet to understand this one fully, as the towels are apparently unprotected by the field when hung on towel racks and dry. Then, and only then, may children actually touch a towel. At some point, however, I believe the towel reaches a certain saturation level that triggers the force field and causes any child using it to abruptly stop and drop it to a heap on the floor. Preferably in a bedroom with a carpeted floor instead of a tiled bathroom, just so the mildew has a chance at greater purchase. Left unattended, these same towels somehow multiply, creating slightly smelly loads requiring copious amounts of eye-burning bleach. Back to the towel bar they go, minus the force field, just to start the cycle all over again.

wub-wub. wub-wub. wub-wub.

There are many more force fields in the house, some that even target the darling Man of the House. For example, Q-Tips never manage to travel from his ears to the trash can, only to the bathroom counter. The dogs are under the governance of yet another field outdoors, as they steer clear of their designated potty area and head instead, of course, to the river rock decoratively surrounding our newly-restored deck. That’s one heck of a force field. So far, though, there is no field too strong to defeat mom. Armed with a powerful attitude and the ability to both berate and bribe small people in a single sentence, this mom is ready to tackle any force field, big or small. So, it’s with a light heart I leave you, dear readers. Tonight, I must finish tackling the laundry. And at least two force fields await me and my “mountain fresh” laundry as we fight the good fight. Wish us luck.

wub-wub. wub-wub. wub-wub.

wub-wub. wub-wub. wub-wub.

wub-wub. wub-wub. wub-wub.

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2 Responses

  1. I know EXACTLY what you are writing about. Now imagine two TEENAGE boys who frequently do not put up the seat when they pee! Wet towels! Ha! Nothing EVER dries in the humid Seattle weather.

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