I’ve never been a neat person. My mother, my wife, and my college roommates can attest to that. In fact, my cleaning philosophy has always been never be the neatest person in the house. When you are the neatest person in your house, messes start to bother you before anyone else. You are the first to start cleaning and you spend the most time cleaning. Recently, two roommates moved into our house and unfortunately I’m neater than both of them. In two quick years, I’ve moved from messiest in the house to second neatest--not a comfortable place for me to be.
It’s not even so much that I want the house to be cleaner; it’s just that the scattering of toys is really starting to stress me out. For example, Chase enjoys playing with the colorful stacking cups. Let’s say we start the day with all eight of them in our family room. Between the travels of both boys, all eight cups will flee to the far corners of our house. Some cups will make it upstairs, while others hide under couches. It’s like the boys are preparing an Easter egg hunt for Mom and Dad, And it doesn’t end with the cups--virtually every toy is modular and comes with multiple pieces. Suitcase shape sorter with hammer--7 parts. Puzzle with numbers--11 parts. Novelty Star Wars Spudtrooper Mr. Potato Head--12 parts. That’s thirty parts from three toys and we haven’t even finished breakfast! Before you say anything, believe me I know that it will only get worse. I shutter just thinking about the distinctive sound of legos in the vacuum.
The problem with now being in the neater half in the house is the need to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Putting all the toys in the toy-box is one thing, but what about making sure all the respective parts have been reunited with the right toys? Again, I’m not a neat person by nature, but on some level it bothers me when we’re missing pieces of the Thomas the Train railroad. What if we can’t construct the bridge because one the train tracks is wedged in someone’s crib? Just think of the potential damage. I refuse to have that kind of cartoon carnage on my hands. You can see it’s not about cleaning; it’s more of an ethical dilemma.
In terms of day to day cleaning, we stick to the basics: make sure that everyone has a clean path to their bed and that no one cuts open a foot on a matchbox car. But every now then, I feel the need to inventory what toys have survived. I try to make sure Farmer Ted has his tractor, his trailer, his sheep, his sheepdog, and two pieces of hay--that’s 7 parts if you’re counting at home. Inevitably, 6 pieces will be found quickly; finding the seventh will involve checking the diaper bag, the car seat, outside under the slide, and of course in the impossible to reach crevice behind the TV. I feel like I am perpetually looking for the lost sock in the dryer. Is it worth it? At times yes. There are some pieces that are so rare, finding them is a small victory. Take for example the red hexagon in the aforementioned shape sorter. It’s harder to find than a Ken Griffey rookie card and locating it is an event worthy of a small celebration.
The reality is that any cataloging efforts can’t possibly keep up with the increased activity of the boys as well as any new acquisitions of toys. Someday Farmer Ted will lose his sheepdog, and without his sheepdog will probably lose his sheep. The red hexagon will go too far down the TV crevice only to be found by moving or buying a new TV. I’m sure some hyper organized parents with label makers won’t lose the red hexagon and as a result their children will graduate with honors. As long as my sons can room with their neat freak offspring, that’s fine with me.
