Once upon a time, I had standards. I ate off my own plate with my own utensils. If food fell on the floor, I threw it out. I wore clean clothes that were ironed and in good repair. I wore earrings every day. I was positively uptight about bodily fluids. I would say the same about my husband. We were clean, well-groomed and proud of it! Now? Not so much.
I blame my children. And it started right at the beginning. Try giving birth sometime. For those of you that have not seen a birth, it's not something you want to do on a white couch. Or even in your home. Blood, mucus, vomit, poop -- it's not for the faint of heart.
Then bring the baby home. Suddenly, for the first time in your life (unless you are a medical professional or a pervert), you are being peed, pooped and vomited on. My youngest daughter, The Bean, once pooped across the room. She was a teensie little infant on her white changing table, on a white blanket, in a white outfit, and I took her pants off to change her diaper. There was a bureau with a pile of white cloths on it across the room. She she shot out this liquid, mustardy poop that splattered all over her, the changing table AND the whole bureau. It was amazing in all the worst ways.
Do you let people you aren't boinking have a sip of your drink? I didn't until I had kids. I still resist it, but sometimes when it's a choice between giving one of them a sip of water or getting up and pouring another one for them, I give up. And I was much more particular about my hair and clothes when I was the only person I was dressing. Now if someone notices I've lost a button, I like to pretend that it "must have just fallen off." I have one jacket I've worn that way for four years.
Ever reached down a full toilet to get a tube of toothpaste or other dropped item? Not cool, but often necessary when your five-year-old is an uncoordinated pain-in-the-ass who wants to "do it herself." It breaks something in you. The scary part is that then you have to defend throwing the item out, like you're the unreasonable one.
The girls are nothing compared to the boys, though. As you probably know, my son, Mister B, is a gorgeous, sweet little man. Unfortunately, hygiene is not his strong suit. Many a time, we have found an unflushed toilet in the bathroom, BUT THERE'S NO TOILET PAPER IN THE BOWL. Think about it. It's upsetting.
On the upside, his revolting personal habits do pay his sisters back for the emotional torture he's undergone at their hands for the last six years. This morning, my oldest daughter, who's self proclaimed rock n' roll name is "Thorn," ran downstairs screeching. She explained that Mister B had overshot some pee onto the floor, and then wiped it up with a towel. So far, so good for Mister B. Unfortunately, he then put the towel on the counter and Thorn used it to dry her face after her morning ablutions. The worst thing about it is that TP and I really didn't think it was a big deal. We both PRETENDED we were upset to mollify her, but after she went back upstairs, TP said, "I almost told her, 'It's only water.'" The TP I fell in love with would not have thought it was only water, but then, that innocent manchild had never have been forced to wipe his son's nose with his bare fingers in a moment of desperation, either.
I try not to worry too much about breakdown in standards. There have been a lot of wet, rather disgusting kisses that I would never have missed along the way.
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