A Lesson in Half-Assedness

I am always really ridiculously amused to see the look on people's faces when I inform them that I have eight kids. Some are amazed at the sheer fabulousness I must possess to manage to keep eight little people alive, fed, clothed, housed...and did I mention alive? Others are amazed that I'm not sporting a white coat and living in a super special padded room rocking back and forth and muttering to myself. This is made more amusing by the fact that I live in Utah, where the recognized state motto is, "If we don't multiple and replenish the earth, who will?" Yet even in the great state of the mega-breeders...eight kids is--to be frank--one metric shit-ton.

The most clinically insane thing anyone has ever said to me, upon learning of my litter, is "I'll bet your house is always clean with all those little helpers around." Clearly these people (and yes it has been uttered more than once by more than one person) do not have children. I have tried literally ever trick in my personal mothering playbook--and every suggestion I could find on Pinterest--and failed miserable at getting my kids to get their shit together in the cleaning department.

We hit a breaking point on Monday...I walked into the living room about a half hour after dinner and looking around at the filth before me announced, "Okay guys time to do your chores."

This statement was meet with varying degrees of blank stares and utter confusion. Until one of my entourage piped up, "Uhhh we just did our chores."

I believe the words that next came from my mouth are probably unsuitable for any kind of audience, so let's go with this instead, "Oh my dear sweet children. Gosh I sure do appreciate the sincere effort you put into your chores. It makes me so thrilled after all I do for you to be rewarded with such diligence and hard work on your part. Bravo and job well done. Job. Well. Done."

This was followed by a self-imposed time out. I used my time locked in my bathroom to rant to Ranger Guy about how unappreciated I was, and how...did he realize I could literally LITERALLY hire a maid for the money I spent paying allowance to my entourage. DID HE REALIZE THAT? HUH? HUH? HUH? DID HE?

I took immediate action composing a new chore system in which the entourage would earn their video game and television privileges instead of Andrew Jacksons. Then I text my sister (who happened to owe me a few Andys) and asked her to pay me back with housework.

The next day she showed up and gathered the cleaning supplies. The kids quickly realized they'd been "replaced". Shock and awe all around. Heads hung in shame. I'm not above a good guilt trip. Besides my kitchen and bathroom sparkle and with the money I'm saving teaching my kids a lesson about doing shit right the first time...well let's just say Gypsy needs a new pair of shoes, or purse, or skirt...or much more likely, a bottle of Moscato.