Terrorized by a four year old. Or Hoarders, Part 2

So, I started doing this a few days ago.  It has been positively as joyful as bathing suit shopping for me.  On a related (kind of) note:  I chose not to buy suits this year because I thought I still had two gorgeous suits.  But, it seems the space between my neck and navel - some would call this The Bust - has shrunk.  To be safe I googled shrinking bust size.  This search yielded 1.  Shrinking building in Japan (which might mess with my mind the same way that my shrinking boobage has), and 2.  Another search where I found this sexpert Q&A  which basically says I should quit exercising in order to get what little boobage I had back.  So............................what?  Google:  YOU ARE CONFUSING AND I HATE YOU.

Anyway.

Recap:  I am decluttering my home space by space.  This is a torturous and often humorous (because torture and humor are so closely related) experience that has revealed some frightening things about my family.

1.  My four year old never stops talking.  Here's how "cleaning" has gone since her last day of school.

Her (speaking loudly from the other room):  Can we play a game?

Me:  No, baby.  Momma has to clean the entire house cabinet by cabinet.  Maybe when you are 24.

Her:  So, in a few minutes?

Me:  Maybe.

Her:  What does maybe mean again?  Yes? 

Me (making a stabbing motion through my heart):  Maybe means maybe yes or maybe no.  We'll see.

Her:  Okay.  Then, can we read a book?

Me (making a gun with my hand and pointing it toward my head):  Remember I'm cleaning so the water is running and I can't really hear you.  Come in here.

Her (skips into the kitchen):  Okay.  Can you hear me now?  Wow.  That stuff is really dirty.  Why is everything so gross?  When is the last time you did this?  Can we just move?

Me:  No.  We can't move, but I'm pretending we are moving just to keep me on my toes.

Her:  That doesn't make sense to me.

Me:  I know.  That's how cleaning is.

Her:  Why are you throwing away all of our baby dishes?

Me:  I'm not.  I am saving them for when you have babies.  Then you can give them to your babies.

Her:  Well, I'm glad mine's not blue because I am only having girls.

Me:  Well, you get what you get.  If you get a boy, you get a boy.

Her:  Well, if I get a boy, I'm sending him right back or giving him away.

Awesome.  So goes two minutes of cleaning.  We are sending away boy babies.

2.  The other day the kids came home and asked me what I had done all day.  I explained to them that I am on a mission to clean and declutter the house space by space and that this might take until they finish college.  

Girl 1:  Well, you could start by getting rid of these baby spoons.  I mean like, seriously mom?  Why do we still have these?

Boy Child:  Because, Girl 1!  Mom might have another baby.

Awesome, Part II.  This makes me both frightened for Boy Child that he thinks this is even possible at my age and also a bit horrified that the baby spoons are still in there.

3.  Yesterday I uncovered this:

Why?

Yes, that is 8000 plastic knives.  Cheesus.  Who does that???  Who has 8000 plastic knives (but no fork to save a life) in their house???  I am ready for the Mother Load of Church Picnics.....or something.

4.  Today I decided we'd had enough cleaning.  In one day I will have four kids underfoot for two and a half months and everything I have so dutifully cleaned is going to be filthy again in the first 24 hours of it.  So, I decided to go run the errands that have been piling up since...............November 2012.  We had 14 errands to run.  It was made slightly less painful by the fact that the credit union was selling chocolate popcorn for a dollar.  I was going to deposit my check, but instead I bought 589 bags of popcorn.  (JUST KIDDING!  I don't get paid that much, and besides, who can eat that much popcorn?!)  I bought Girl 3 a bag of popcorn and she was actually quiet and pleasant *almost* our entire trip.  Which leads to me to this:



These are "high waisted bathing suit bottoms."  Or, as Girl 3 called them, "Big, huge panties."  Thank you, Girl 3 for ruining what little self esteem I have left.

Yeah.  I bought these today with a top. 

"Oh, good.  I thought you weren't going to wear a top, mom," said Girl 3 in the Target changing room at the top of her lungs after opening the door on me while I was not clothed.  I hope hubby reads this post because I have a feeling he will call them "big, huge panties," too and then I will have to return them.

The end.  Boy Child "graduates" from fifth grade tomorrow with all the pomp and circumstance of The Royal Wedding.  I am hoping I don't cry like a crazy woman at a funeral.  Wish me luck.