Being a Stay-At-Home Mom is not exactly luxurious. Even the acronym SAHM is unglamorous. It reminds me of something from the breakfast menu at Denny's or IHOP (Moon Over My Hammy anyone?) Anyway, what now counts as a "treat" for mommy is a block of two hours to clean the house. I'm dead serious too. It takes Herculean energy and patience to try and do chores with a trio of monkeys trailing after you, either clinging to your legs or undoing all of your cleaning and straightening. The fact that all three little Georges boycott naps doesn't allow for even small breaks for chores or gasp, rest! We're back to Sisyphus here.
Cleaning up the house for playdates is one of the more ironic parts of a mom's life. You bust your butt to clean up the house, only for it to look post-apocalyptic five minutes after the arrival of your whirling dervish-like guests. Yesterday I had a playdate/happy hour. As the mom's tried to enjoy our mojitos or wine, the kids thought it was a fun game to stuff toys and clothes in the toilet upstairs. Unfortunately, I think my kids were the ring-leaders of this particular party game. Logan even admitted to it, but he might have just been being agreeable.
Any minute now, the troops will descend so gotta run!
Casa de George ... Pirate Playground
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