Beginning tomorrow TOMORROW! DO YOU HEAR ME? I will be out of town for 14 days, the children to be left in the care of their father, who fears not.
I have spent the day in an attempt to get ahead of the creeping filth and disorder.
Which is beyond futile. You cannot get ahead of chaos while it is still in the process of being created.
You can barely stave it off with a full-bore, round the clock effort. The children are always one wrapper ahead of me, a vanguard of dust and crumbs against which any vacuum cleaner, even running continuously, can only hold the line at best.
I manage to empty the garbage moments before it topples, spreading its foul and sticky contents across the cabinet. The dishwasher is emptied just as the next clattering pile of dirty dishes and half-eaten food hits the sink. The next clattering pile of dirty dishes and half-eaten food hits the sink just as a regiment of newly washed dinnerware begins fanning out, room by room, the glasses forming wet lines on the bookshelves, which have been emptied onto the floors and the tables, under which stray socks and shoes are multiplying as quickly as they can be kicked off.
Something in the refrigerator is always one molecule away from gaseous eruption and laundry moulders in its basket as fast as it can be washed.
The carpets are a swamp of loose coins, hairbrushes, and balls of every shape, propagating across the surface of the floor like an invasive species of water lily.
Only constant vigilance prevents a looming paper disaster. You can not turn your back on a backpack. I put this all in a long note.
Hah! says the man they call Daddy. These things are the result of faulty management. Things will be different when you are gone, he says. There will be edicts. Sweeping new rules. Daddy law. The children are capable.
Oh yes they are.