You know the myth of Sisyphus, right?
Classic tale of a guy pushing a boulder up a hill, only to have it endlessly roll down on him. So he starts over again, doomed by his hubris, and begins to push it up again. Wash, rinse, repeat. Camus wrote a book about itthat I was forced to read for one of my high school classes. It's that much of a cultural touchstone.
This is life with an almost-four year old and a four month infant. Cora, my almost-four year old, is amazing and smart and incredibly messy. Strong-willed to the point of obstinance. Milo, the four month old, is a baby. He spits up--a lot; he poops--a lot; he's prone to needing to be held--a lot. This sets our scene, you see.
Next, enter the long-suffering grandmother, who dearly loves all of our aforementioned players, including your humble author.
Then, add in one incredibly messy living room, strewn with the detritus of life, ranging from toys to clothes to random papers brought home from preschool. And cue the music because the long-suffering grandmother and myself are attempting to clean it... wait for it... think about it... do we succeed at all?
For every toy we put away, Cora takes four more out. The concept of one toy at a time is totally lost. There is too much to do; too much to play and never, ever enough time. And if we're not playing, then we must be bugging and loving and inspecting whether our baby brother has pooped, which is an incredibly interesting topic at her age.
It is an endless stream of Sofia the First toys, a well-loved (and spit up on) baby playmat, bottles and nursing, tiny Octonauts launchers and dress-up Disney Princess stickers that get everywhere. There's a prevalent need to want to curse out the designer of the Disney Princess sticker book, who decided that each and every princess needed her own removable pair of shoes and miniscule sticker jewelry.
We work for five hours. We clean one quarter of the living room and half of the dining room table. We trip over crayons and cuddles, making our way through it with laughter and not a few tears (Milo is in a teething mood today).
We are so not done with cleaning.
But at least my boulders are the soft and squishy kind; they may block my path, but damn, they give good hugs.