It's just after 10:00, and I'm finally sitting down for the first time since Robbie and I got home six hours ago. I really just want to go to bed, but there's no way I could let Aunt Hee-ah-ee face another day without a blog.
You know you've all been there. There are things you need to get done. You need your husband to help. He can't manage to follow directions. Be honest; I know this doesn't just happen at my house. I've decided that I don't want my future daughter-in-law to face these concerns. That's why I've started giving Robbie the opportunity to help me clean the house.
It started with small directions: I put the laundry next to the stairs and showed Robbie how to throw the clothes over the railing to the stairs below. I asked him to take one toy and "clean up". We've moved on from that a little, especially now that Robbie knows "help" and "helper". Today, I was able to show Robbie the dirty clothes in his hamper and ask him to throw them downstairs. And. He. Did. He picked up trash and threw it away, reminding me that it was "yucky".
He's not scrubbing sinks or scouring counters; after all, he can't reach them. Yet. If I can keep building on this interest in being my big "help, mama, help", I may actually be able to come home and put my feet up some time before 10:00. And I may not have to still go downstairs to get my sheets. Because they'll already be on my bed. With hospital corners.
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