Slip sliding away

Our house is an obstacle course. This is part and parcel of having kids sure, but as the kids get older one hopes that maybe, just maybe it will change.

I’ve spent the better part of my adult life carefully picking my way over assorted toys, games, dropped food items (to avoid grinding them into the carpet/floor) and I would really really REALLY like to stop.

I once tripped over what I thought was a stuffed monkey years ago (it was a cat of Sean’s) and hurt the same foot I had fractured the top of back in ’99 and it’s been called my ‘monkey foot’ ever since.

I’ve had some pretty gross incidents as well.

Sean was notorious for leaving food festering in his backpack which would eventually find it’s way into his bedroom while digging for homework or whatever. Once it was half a banana in a baggie. By this time the banana was no longer banana shaped it was, in fact a baggie full of brown mush. For some reason I cannot recall I had attempted to navigate the floor of their room a very brave act I must assure you. During the trip back I ‘found’ the baggie of banana. It was cold and soft and gross and still gives me nightmares *shudder*.

Lately though it’s more video game shit, clothes, candy wrappers casually piled up on tables that get knocked onto floors oh yeah, and spills. Spills of all kinds. Food spills, drink spills. One of my biggest pet peeves is the sticky floor. The sticky floor is usually a result of the drink spill with the furtive clean up attempt. You know, the kind where you wipe up the liquid but don’t use water, soap or anything that may actually clean it up.

Chris worked until eight tonight and after I drove him home I reminded him to throw his uniform into the laundry. After a while I realized that the clothes hadn’t moved from washer to dryer so I decided to be a nice Mom and do it for him. I didn’t look down. Mistake.
To my utter dismay I found myself skidding towards the wall, waving my arms around to keep myself upright on the nice big blob of soap on the floor in front of the washer. Damn, is the boy trying to kill me or something? Like I need help being accident prone, trust me I do well enough on my own.

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