So, yesterday, I decided that cleaning with the Minions needed to happen.
What, on Earth, was I thinking?
Oh, yeah. Being one-armed means that I need to delegate around here. Supervise, order, cajole, threaten, and otherwise whip them into action.
*Note: No actual whipping of Minions occurred*
You wouldn’t think that chores would be a big dramatic deal around here, since they’re a regular occurence.
But you’d be wrong.
Tazzie and Princess squabbling over whose stuff was on the floor, what was garbage, what to keep, on and on and on.
Cubby clinging to my knees, wailing, because I actually *dared* to put him down and attempt to get anything done other than hold him (he has Motheritis in the worst way)
Boo, happily tossing toys, books, and anything else he could get ahold of around. Place needs to look *lived in*, yanno.
Laundry sorted through, Minions rooms organized, floors swept, the list goes on. I spent time in the Basement O’Doom, dang it. It’s creepy down there. On the good side, I did find some clothes that had gone missing. With the way the laundry area is set up, it’s the washer and dryer crammed onto the basement landing, with about a foot of space in front of the dryer before the stairs start again. Minions like to toss laundry in front of the machines, which ends up being trampled, and then eventually kicked down the stairs, never to be seen again. Until yesterday.
Honestly, for all the work we put in, the house should have been prepared for a visit from travelling dignitaries, complete with security detail.
Then Wolf came home.
“So. What did you guys do today?”
Someone want to give me a sieve? A teaspoon? I think I’d have better luck, and longer lasting results, using either of them to drain the ocean.