Grr says the Lego man from where he lies on the dirty kitchen counter beside the sink. Or that is what I imagine he would say if he could talk. The scowl on his face suggests he was ripped from the middle of a tense encounter, maybe with some cowboys or vikings, and tossed onto the counter in passing. His brows are furrowed. His frown is barely visible from underneath his large moustache. He is cranky.
I know just how he feels.
I spent over an hour this morning cleaning the main floor while the girl was at school and the boy amused himself. And by that I mean he stayed one step ahead of me by creating new messes for me to clean up. I tidied, I organized, I vacuumed. My house is almost clean. I am sure it looks like yours at its messiest.
I can't keep up. Most of the time I don't bother. Some days I just can't face being Sisyphus one more minute longer. So I let the stickers stay stuck to the floor. The walls aren't wiped free of crayon. The toys aren't picked up. The laundry isn't put away. The table isn't wiped clean.
My boulder stays at the bottom on the hill. And I sit on top of it going Grr just like the Lego man.