Messes

This is what I walked in to see in the livingroom. Isn't that cute, you might say.
Marshmallows on the couch.
If that were all, Dear Reader, I might agree with you.
But, in this house, particularly these days, in this life, it is but The Beginning.
The Mama sighs, closes her eyes, and does a quick spin back out of the room.

She comes to the kitchen table - happy to be here today, as bc work is done, and she may read and moan (as in thump her head against the table) at her leisure.
Evie mentioned a few ondits that I felt compelled to check out. Led to a few groups, and a few thoughts, and a few shrugs - let them live, I don't care. I simply can't summon up the energy today. Check into Always Unschooled. Messes, it turns out, is a current topic. Well, not messes, exactly, but the repercussions of messes, if you will. Being organized and a Martha-Wannabe in a Free Kid World.

Sigh.
You think that I am complaining because I like to complain.
Not so.
I read all the time about messes in this unschooling life.
There seems to be a decided difference between mine and theirs.
Theirs puts me in mind of Martha Stewart in the midst of a glorious art project.
Ours have more of a chocolate-syrup fingerprints with dog hair on it, step on the carpet and squish a raspberry under the arch of your foot, into the bathroom and what the hell is that puddle with the chunks in it? feel-to-them sort of mess.

Eric calls them tar and feathers.
"Why don't we just toss out a bucket of tar, and throw feathers on it? He says in frustration and exasperation.
Quite so.
Would seem that it would be the easier thing to clean up on many a day.

Back to today. Livingroom is coming along oh-so-slowly, but kitchen is shaping up. Maddie comes in searching for juice. After a quick look - we usually have a variety available, I see that there is none. "Shall I make some lemonade for you?"
"Yeah."
Get out the pitcher... to find this.

It's a few slices of salami. Naturally.

No matter, I have two of them. I'll just get out the other one.

I've found it quite therapeutic to spend the day in the kitchen. My kitchen is old. I'm pretty sure it's all original cabinetry. Inside the uppermost cupboards is a pale pink paint, with a crack going through it that seems to have happened in the house's 'settling'. I'll not be painting it ever, I"m actually strangely fond of the old fashioned Pink Paint. (notice the way my mind drifts off into some sort of pleasant sanctuary.)

Back to my labors. It was actually quite soothing. Aside from my freak-outs that I couldn't do it all on my own.
Amazingly, when I changed my attitude from anger to joyously cleaning, so did Little Son. "Mom, I'm gonna have that stuff picked up in no time! Can we make chocolate chip cookies when I'm done? But wait!, for now, it's Back To Cleaning!"

There is a difference in messes, as I mentioned. There is the Joyous Living sort of mess. It looks something like this. (This includes dirty feet, organic grapes, a lone cuisenaire rod, an ad from a Play-doh toy enclosure, a little boombox, a wadded-up paper towel, a glass of beer :), and Lil Notebook with camera ubs cord.)

And then there's the get-the-hose and start at the ceiling sort of messes. I'm afraid that most of ours belong in the second category.

And now?

Now, even as I sit here type-type-typing, I stand up - for something-it has been lost in the momentary chaos - to see Maddie sitting not three feet away from me with the giant can of Stephen's Milk Chocolate Hot Cocoa and a gallon of Heinz White Vinegar.

Choke.

Trev comes in and pours himself a glass of lemonade ("It needs more sugar!") and spills it on the table and -by default, the floor.

Within a few more seconds, he calls out "Mom, Maddie went pee on the livingroom carpet!"

Yup. That sounds about right.

All in about 24 seconds.