Too Bad About the Work

This is how I spent today, or about 90% of it. Hearing Annika take all the toothbrushes out of the bathroom every time I walked more than ten feet away from her.  Allowing her to strew the toothbrushes all over the apartment as I attempted to, say, answer the telephone, pour my coffee, feed the dogs. Walking all over searching for the toothbrushes, returning them to the bathroom, then waiting five minutes for a repeat performance.

Variation: Substitute "toothbrushes" for "pot lids" and you get the idea.

I found myself thinking of Sisyphus, as I bent over a tiny toothbrush at about four in the afternoon, my back already starting to ache. I know you may be thinking: Why oh why did the foolish woman not just relocate the toothbrushes and the pot lids? Because, my friends, if not the toothbrushes and the pot lids, then the printer paper or the dog toys. Or the tea boxes and and the socks. Unless you want to come over to my house and build me one continuous wall shelf about five feet off the ground that is sturdy enough to hold, well, every single item we own, then I'm not that interested in your criticism. I know some of you, with small tornados at home, know just what I mean.

At one point I felt Lily's eyes on me as I lay on the floor trying to get a pot lid from under the couch. I met them. She was reading a book in her pajamas, very casual, quite content. When she realized I had noticed she was watching me, she made a sympathetic face.

"Too bad about the work, Mama," she said. "Babies are tough."

"Thanks, Lil," I said, pleased she'd acknowledged the clean-up, remembering she'd cleaned up her own mess earlier in the morning. 

"And when you're done, do you think you could make me a sandwich?" 

What do we think about 5-year-olds and the judicious use of knives that can spread?