Top 5 Floor Filth: Why I Need to Vacuum Every Day

It's no secret that I am not a neat freak.  Most people seem to emerge from their teenage years of filth and squalor with a newly acquired need for cleanliness.  This level of this need varies from person to person but it for some reason it often seems that females are more needy in this sense - they require a level of 'clean and tidy' - a Level of Cleanliness - to feel comfortable that exceeds that of their male counterparts.  This Level increases with certain milestones in one's life, for example, when you buy your first house.  There's something about suddenly being financially wholly responsible for a property that makes a person want to keep it spick and span.  Another Level changer seems to be having a child.  Suddenly you're aware that your pride and joy can't be rolling round in what might previously have been an acceptable Level of mess.  The sad oxymoron to this is that the child creates whole new layers of mess and dirt that you suddenly have lower tolerance for.
It has been the subject of much envy and conversation amongst my friends that I struck it lucky with Phil.  Not only is he neat and clean-aware, he is proactive and requires things to be tidy before he can relax.  I don't think blokes really talk about this sort of thing, but if they did, Phil would experience the opposite reaction from his mates - they would feel sorry for him that he ended up with a wife who is, honestly, a crap housekeeper and who leaves the majority of the housework to him.  It's not that I don't have any Level of Cleanliness and I want to sit amidst empty pizza boxes and dust bunnies, it's just that my Level isn't as high as is commonly acceptable.
Now as mentioned, there are life events that have escalated my Level of Cleanliness but it seems that in the last few months one of two things has happened.
a) My Level of Cleanliness has suddenly had a massive growth-spurt and I am finally hitting my post-adolescent need for clean (my Mum will be so relieved); or
b) There has been an on-going, almighty shit storm in and around my house that suddenly means that I am dealing with an unprecedented level of filth on our carpets and lino, resulting in the need for vigorous vacuuming.

I find it hard to believe that it's taken until my 30s to discover 'clean', so below I outline the Top 5 things that have come together to form the perfect floor maelstrom.

1. Cat fur.  This is not new, Albert has lived with us for over 5 years now.  In fact, we're down to one cat from two, so in theory there should be less cat fluff.  And it's winter so surely he wants all the fluff he can hold onto.  But I think the cat has formulated a cunning plan.  A silent protest if you will.  He is staging a fluff-in.  What is a fluff-in?  A fluff-in is Bertie objecting to the invasion of his domain by a two legged, grabby thing.  Namely Edie.  I think it's a domestic cat evolutionary development - they can shed at will just to really piss you off.

2. Bird Feathers and Mouse Poo.  Not content with restricting the protest to fur, Albert also brings in a stream of innocent small creatures.  This serves two purposes.  The first is to really piss me off by having to chase the creatures out, or pick up the remnants left in the hallway, or track down their petrified bodies behind appliances.  The second is to scare the creature into roaming around the house as much as possible, leaving their filth behind them (Bertie's probably dropping fur as this happens just get double coverage).  Yesterday I had two birds in the one day.  That was a lot of feathers.  There also may or may not be a rodent of some sort living under our dishwasher.  Or is it behind the entertainment centre? Either way, it's probably spreading filth on the floor.

3. Rice Crackers.  Why is it that snacks designed for babies and children are so freaking messy?  If you don't have kids, you've probably never seen a rice cracker half masticated and spat up again so let me tell you aaaall about about.  They are like gooey snot when they're still wet, all thick and gluggy.  Then when they dry they're like concrete.  So I stopped giving Edie those and buy her those little rice cake things.  Problem solved.  Though now I have a new problem.  These crackers crumble.  It's like she's worried she'll get lost from the kitchen to the bedroom so leaves a trail of rice crumbs.  On the plus side, I can always find her.

4. Paper.  Ah, kids and paper.  Today Edie got a late 1st birthday present.  It was lovely.  She barely registered what it was but she did clock the wrapping paper.  She almost burst out of her skin trying to bust free of the high chair so she could attack the paper.  She proceeded to tear said wrapping paper into a multitude of tiny paper pieces (perhaps she wants to wrap some small gifts for the mouse under the dishwasher?).  Let her at a circular, an old envelope, a magazine... anything that is paper, and she will destroy it.  She rips until the pieces are so small, it's not worth picking up by hand, the vacuum is needed.  We could make a nice nest for rats or gerbils at our house.

5. Onion Skins and Dirt (that one took you by surprise didn't it?).  At least that's what it was today but really I mean any number of things that you didn't intend for the floor but somehow ended up there.  Like the rolled oats I mentioned in Baking - an Expose.  Things that you foolishly leave somewhere small hands can reach.  Or maybe you knew they were in reach and you watched the small hands sprinkle the filth all over the house with gay abandon but were too apathetic about what was going on to disrupt their enjoyment.  Edie found the bucket of shallots that Phil had harvested from the garden.  It was about half full but a lot of the contents was dirt, onion skins, and other garden material.  Edie began by scattering the odd onion skin around the house (she kindly took some to our bedroom and left it beside our bed), then slowly extended her distribution until the whole bucket was upended and she was literally rolling in the dirt and shallots.  It looked quite fun actually so I left her to it.  But clearly I needed to address the chaos at some stage and in another Top Mum moment, left the vacuuming until she was over-tired and just followed me and the vacuum cleaner around the house grizzling, periodically lying in front of the machine like she was sacrificing herself to the gods of vacuuming.

I have not even begun to talk about all the 'things' that litter the filthy floor and must be picked up several times a day.

So really, I think it's clear that a quick vacuum every day is the least one could do with all this foulness around them.  And I don't even achieve that most days.  Sorry Mum (and Phil), it would seem I still have a very low Level of Cleanliness, it's just that I live in a whole lot more filth.

Edie in shallot and dirt nirvana

Hero to Villain: A Fur Baby's Fall From Grace

I had planned a completely different post for today but then I had a swift change of heart at about 5:45am this morning.  I was all set to wax on about chops (I think you all dodged a bullet really) but my cat inspired a new, slightly more vitriolic spiel.  Or not so much my cat as what it left it the hallway.

My change of heart went something like this:
5:40am.  Edie begins to cry.  I lie in bed hoping she will just go back to sleep but of course I am well awake.  Why do I always kid myself into thinking I can just sleep through it?!
5:45am.  Resigned to the fact that I am going to have to go in, I roll out of bed and stumble down the hallway towards her room.
5:45am + a few more seconds. The carpet changes underneath my feet.  I don't remember there being a squishy, furry, barely warm patch.

In case my ridiculously elaborate explanation has not yet made it apparent, there was a rodent beneath my feet.  I don't know whether I'm grateful that it was dead and oozy or not.  The alternative is not particularly appealing either.  In any event, I chose to try and move on and deal with my crying child before investigating exactly what it was I stood on and what state it was in.

If you have ever tried to soothe a child in the night, you will know that you are desperately trying to do everything in your power to get the child back to sleep so that you can do the same.  You do things that you would otherwise consider ridiculous or in extreme cases, a little insane.  One of the things that I often find myself doing is inwardly reciting a mantra-like phrase; something like "If you are calm, she will be calm".  I try to use yoga breathing to relax each part of my body, toes to top, and calm my mind.  Mostly this ends with my chin hitting my chest, me waking up with a start, and Edie no more or less "calm" than she was when I started.
Last night, the mantra did not make it past my toes.  All I could think of was how my toes must now be hopping with fleas and other dirty foulness from the unknown rodent I squished with said toes.  I could physically feel them crawling on my foot.  But more disruptive to my meditative calm than the uncleanliness of my situation was my seething RAGE at the cat.

I like to give my readers perspective in the middle of a story it seems, so here it is in today's post.  I love my cat.  I know most pet owners love their animals, but I was a pretty ardent pet lover.  My cat was my fur baby.  I don't want to get too heavy (I was never a crazy cat lady after all) but just to illustrate the depth of emotion I felt for my fur baby I was often heard to say, "I better have a baby before one of my cats dies otherwise I'll be a wreck".  One of my cats died before I had a baby.  I was a wreck.  I almost took bereavement leave from my job but realised that would definitely post me as a crazy cat lady so I toughed it out.
People told me that once my baby was born, the one lovely fur baby I had left would be reduced to a nuisance.  I completely dismissed this idea.  More than that, it actually kinda pissed me off that people would think that.  Your baby is not a nuisance.  Well, not a mere nuisance.

I guess you can see what I'm leading to: those people, who told me my fur baby would fade into the background of my life were right.  I hate to say it, but it's true.  I do still love my cat.  I really do.  He's sitting opposite me now, all curled up and asleep, and he's rather lovely.  It's just that I can't give the time to him like I used to.  Once I would allow him to climb up me and wrap around me and sit on me at odd angles.  Now I just want him to piss off.  And I tell him so frequently.  Usually it's because I'm trying to change a nappy, or breast feed, or sneak quietly out of the bathroom, and a cats arse in my face is NOT conducive to doing any of these things successfully.  And the more I reject him, the more desperate he gets, so the more annoying he becomes.  It's a vicious circle.  I used to laugh at my own mother when she ranted about one of our family cats (we had several over my childhood) being a bloody nuisance who just malted fur all over the furniture and puked up cat biscuits for her to scrape into the bin.  She would rave about what an inconvenience they were, sitting on her sewing, playing with her knitting, and licking the margarine out of the container on the bench.  Then, when we caught her giving the cat a surreptitious pat, or shedding a quiet tear when they finally died, we would smile at how silly she had been as she really did  love the cat, it was all just some strange facade she put up.  Mum, I finally understand you.  The cat IS fucking annoying.  There's no two ways around it.  I do love him, really.  But he's FUCKING ANNOYING!!!

Bertie & I share a moment in happier times...

So last night as I was trying to soothe my child while seething at my lovely Bertie who was simply leaving me a(nother) present (fourth in a week after the live bird under the fridge, the headless rat on the front lawn, and the live bird in the lounge), I thought I would write about it.  For two reasons; firstly, to vent about the grossness of standing on a rat; secondly, to purge my guilt about swearing at a poor animal who just wants my love.  And then it occurred to me I should do it for a third reason.  I want this blog to be positive.  I don't want to bitch about life.  I'm pretty good at it, I don't need more practice.  I needed to write about this so I can remind myself how lovely my Bertie has been since Edie was born.

Everyday, Albert is squealed at, bitten, slobbered on, grabbed, pinched, patted (we are beginning to get that), and occasionally, sat upon.  And that's just Phil (Oh what mirth!  I of course mean by Edie).  He has his biscuits intentionally spread across the kitchen with gay abandon.  His mummy yells at him and he's not sure why.  The only way he can get love from mum or dad is to endure the aforementioned squealing, slobbering etc.  Yet he sticks around.  More than that, he seems to seek out the affections of Edie from time to time.  And. She. Loves. Him.  She is absolutely head over heels, obsessed with Bertie.  When we can't get Edie to eat her dinner we just say, "Where's Bertie?" and she starts to look all around her and opens her mouth for a spoonful in the hope that it will result in the appearance of Albert (a bit mean I know.  Told you I was a Top Mum).  I think Bertie would easily be the most "kissed" thing in the house if he stood still for long enough - not as good as it sounds as Edie's kisses involve open-mouth slobbering, sometimes followed by a bite.  That little girl thinks her cat is the bees knees.  So while life for Bert is a wee bit tough at the moment, I'm hoping that his patience will come to repay him in spades.  I might not have time for the cat's arse in my face anymore, but Edie will take any part he's willing to offer.

You can't be mad at that for too long