I was supposed to host our neighborhood's monthly BUNCO night last night, but on Friday, I called my neighbor and asked her to switch months with me (She has May). I was sorry to call her on such short notice but my house, and my life, were literally falling apart at the seams. Sam was sick, John was sick, Tom was sick, nothing was getting cleaned, the house was a cesspool of germs, and I just didn't have it in me to clean and disinfect the house and whip of a variety of hors doerves in less than a week. (Because these things take time you know.) I have to plan my cleaning sprees around nap time, otherwise we have a situation like I had yesterday, where I dusted all the furniture, and then when my back was turned, Sam climbed on to the dining room table and did snow angels in the Murphy's Oil.
So I go to BUNCO yesterday, and my neighbor's house is spotless. She's put out a delicious spread of food, her house is immaculate, her plastic silverware is wrapped prettily in a napkin with a little bow around it, and she's also printed out little labels for all the food dishes. Oh, I did I mention, she has a four-year-old, an almost two-year-old, is four months pregnant, and her husband travels for work?
It made me hate myself. It really did.
And it made me hate my lot in life. She and I have played "Compare the Children" before, and I'm pretty sure it has never occurred to her angelic older son to make Murphy's Oil angels on the dining room table, grease his sibling's hair with a piece of buttered toast, or say, whip off his dirty diaper during naptime and decorate his bedroom with poop smears. No, neigbor's older son likes to sit and color for hours, then take a nice long nap in the afternoon, and when he's feeling really frisky, angelic older child likes to swing on the swingset in their backyard. I've never heard my neighbor raise her voice, and certainly never heard her shrieking in dispair. Angelic older child comes the first time he's called, follows directions the first time they're given, and has never had the urge to play in traffic.
Then there's Sam. When Sam's feeling really frisky, he runs half-naked through the house, screaming unintelligbly, clearing any surface in his path, dumping arm fulls of laundry to the floor, and tossing all manner of objects down the stairs. It's like he's possessed with the temperment of an ancient Viking berserker and he's intent on sacking the house. I can ask him to do something ninety-seven ways and ninety-seven times he will ignore me. He also seems to have a death wish, choosing to lie down in the middle of traffic, run headlong into the street, investigate potentially toxic cleaners and medications, and leap from high surfaces. I used to be a relatively laid back and agreeable human being, but more and more I find myself in a permanent state of being at my wit's end.
I hope and pray that John isn't taking notes because I'm pretty sure that the two of them together will kill me.