I am resolved, summer is a-comin’ in and all that. While stopping short of actually spring cleaning, I’m going to start solving the domestic mysteries that have beset me lately.
Why there is glitter in the tumble dryer when this is a house full of boys and we are miles from Christmas?
Why there was butter all over my mobile phone after a brief walk with Boys One and Two in the middle of the afternoon that went no where near any butter, marg or similar?
Why do all the woodlice in the world want to make a final pilgrimage to my house?
Where the blasted clutter comes from – it’s always there. I turn round and there’s more?
Why it is impossible to remember to clean the squashed food out of the high chair until the sink is emptied and everything wiped?
Why I believe I have many more things to remember than everyone else who lives here, yet they can’t find the space in their CPUs to remember to flush, put the seat down, wash away the blob of toothpaste or put the lid back on?
Why it is rarely possible to walk through the front door without tripping over something?
Who empties the cartons, jars and tubs in the fridge and cupboards but PUTS THE CONTAINERS BACK WITH NOTHING IN THEM?
Who performs some magic act whereby my words are rendered inaudible to everyone in the house until I’m puce and spitting with crossness?
Who does all the annoying things, when everyone here says it wasn’t them?
It’s a big fat mystery because according to my family it’s not them. Watch out lads Mummy’s on a mission. We are going to remove the things from our lives that are not useful, beautiful or of huge sentimental value, whether you like it or not. We are drowning in stuff, unnecessary chores and general clutter. The Time has come. Be warned.