The next phase of operation clean-up-this-shithole commenced in the wondrous time between playtime at the rec centre and nap time.
This meant I hauled a bunch of Jdawg’s shit into the closet where our clothes live (if he doesn’t move out his stuff soon, I’ll have to go mental and throw it all out. I swear.) and moved the bedroom furniture around.
The bed’s set up – I was going to give it to him, but the privilege is being revoked by bitchy Zoeyjane – tonight we might try her sleeping in it. Naptime just threatened ending, a whole half hour. Just long enough for me to clean some stuff out of the storage locker and replenish it with empty boxes.
Isobel’s not impressed. Guess them’s the breaks when you have a bipolar mom who’s coming out of a depressive stage – furniture gets moved every month or so and Spring Cleaning is never ending. Poor kid. Stability in every situation is important to me. It’s a rule, in fact. Except for aesthetics – moving furniture, reorganizing shelves, changing blog themes – constant revamping is a lifetime need.
More so, I said, “to hell with it” and dragged the two flat sheets down from the window that were blocking out the light. There’s still blinds up but, the brightness will likely affect naptime negatively, especially once she takes over the bed, but it will mean that three nightlights are no longer necessary in the middle of the night. And moving her into the bed will also mean one more thing:
Official potty training can begin with night times included!
Oh god, the thought of no more diapers makes me want to climb a building and yell, “the world is a wonderful place and I’m so happy to be in it.”
Okay, really, it’s the thought of saving $80+ a month and not having to chase her and trap her into the whole pull-down, wipe, pull-up mambo that we get to do at least five times a day.
Me, I’m a creature of whatever’s easiest and pisses me off the least. Diaper dependency pisses me off like having only half the required coffee needed on a morning when she’s up early and was up several times the night before.
My meandering point? Crazy is, as crazy does.
