I've been half-assing my way through Oxenreider's schedule. I've done half the studio space, half the kids' room, and half the bathroom. Full conession: there is still some unresolved clutter, neatly piled on shelves in my living room (the first room I did), because we haven't had a chance to sit down and figure out what to do with it.
My lofty goals for today included finishing the bathroom completely and making a little headway into the kids' room. Yesterday, my excuse was that my son was sick. Today, well, this morning, I mean like, at four in the morning, my DOG got sick. From 4 a.m. to 7 a.m. my poor dog threw up seven times and needed to go out, each time, too. I finally just dragged my pillow and a blanket downstairs and slept on the sofa, so that I could clean up the vomit without waking everyone else in the house. You might wonder why I got stuck with that duty. He's my dog. My husband got him because we were a package deal. He doesn't understand why our dog lives in the house with us. (He grew up on farm. I did not.) So he cleans up poop and takes the dog on walks, but I can't really wake him and say, "Hey, I've been cleaning up dog vomit or two hours. Can you take the next shift?" I could. And he would. But I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep because I'd be listening to make sure he hadn't just put the dog outside in the dark and cold. Which is why I was awake downstairs and listening for gagging sounds from my dog, who was locked in the kitchen, the only room with no rugs. Well, there was one rug. It seemed clean, until I stepped on it with my bare foot!)
During the kids' breakfast, I discovered that he had also vomited all over his two beds. Even though I'd been sanitizing the floor as I cleaned up each mess, I decided the best thing was to do a total wash down. So, after breakfast, but before preschool, I washed the pantry, kitchen, and mud room floors.
When my sidekick and I returned from dropping his sister off at preschool, we inspected the yard and saw that our poor old dog had continued the puking outside. I shoveled snow over everything and we went back inside, where I tried to complete my goal of bathroom declutter. I even sorted through all my earrings, etc, and cleaned the floor. It's about 90% done. I cleverly hung all my necklaces on the inside of our old, built-in medicine cabinet and then realized that the door can't close with the necklaces there. So, I need to deal with that. I'm also going to make some homemade boxes (out of recycled cardboard boxes) for sanitary stuff. Actually, I'm just going to say it - for tampons and pads. Someone sent me some neat blogs about building lots of stuff, even furniture, out of cardboard boxes. I'll post those when I do the boxes.
Then my little guy's fever came back. I had to run him to preschool and rush inside to coat-up/boot-up my daughter (the slowest dresser in the world) while my son waited in the car, holding an empty yogurt container because he thought he had to throw-up, too! (He didn't,thank God!)
The inserts for the dog beds could not be washed. They were so old they were falling apart. While my daughter had quiet time, and the little guy slept, I spent about an hour online, trying to find new inserts for my dog's bed. When that didn't work, I decided to get him an orthopedic bed (he's 11-years old or so). I spent about an hour fretting over how much to spend on a bed. (Expensive but better made? Is orthopedic just a marketing ploy?).
So my house isn't decluttered in ten days. Or two weeks. So be it. Frankly, I'm proud of what I did accomplish today, especially considering I've been up since four. In fact, now I'm left wondering why I haven't crashed yet? I hope I can keep this up until the kids fall asleep tonight. My husband left just as they woke this morning and he won't get home until they are sound asleep. It'd be better, of course, if he was here. But somehow, I seem to be chugging along, doing fine on my own, even though I've only been doing this stay-at-home business for just over a month. I guess this is it - this is the life. My life. And it's working! I'm doing it! I feel like shouting, "Look ma! No hands!"
FOOTNOTE: Dog and his new, orthopedic bed.