Week 209- White walls, marmitey hands and living in squalor...

Cleaning is like Groundhog Day in our house since my son's learnt to walk.

He basically follows me round the house emptying cupboards, upturning boxes of Lego or spitting out mouthfuls of grapes that he's been storing in his cheeks for anything up to a record two hours (including a nap.)

I reach the end of cleaning the house only to turn round and see a small trail-of-destruction grinning at me, and around we go again.

I want to be all, 'they're just children, let them have fun' about it.

But really I would like to put my children in a Pope-mobile-style container in the middle of the front room whilst I cleaned round them, then rush them out the house, one under each arm like a couple of rugby balls, before they had chance to touch anything. 

I Pinterest the fuck out of white, calm, Scandinavian-inspired houses, and wonder if one day I might be brave enough to paint anything white. 

We attempted it on one wall, which is now a collage of marmitey hand prints.

I imagine myself, all- glass of something that cost more than £4.99 from Aldi in one hand, and an award-winning book that doesn't involve a detective or have pictures in it in the other; sitting on a white sofa, illuminated by white walls that hang an eclectic mix of original prints. 

The rug wouldn't be hiding a selection of Lego pieces ready to tread on with bare feet.

And the remote control would be where I put it down, instead of hidden with a variety of other 'treasures' in the cupboard under the sink.

This is, I realise, just a dream, at least for the next few years anyway.

So until that time I shall just learn to embrace the squalor.

And carry a bottle of Detol spray around with me on a holster at all times.