We have two children, two girl children. When our second daughter was born, eleven years ago, we got the inevitable questions, “Going to go for the boy?” or “Don’t you wish you had a boy?” <Gack!>
Let’s just agree to skip how incredibly rude, invasive and thoughtless these questions are, I can get on that soap box another day, instead I want to reflect on an experience I had last week…
We had been away for a week and came home to a relatively spotless house because I am one of those crazy, I mean organized, people that scours the house before we leave so when we return the house is clean and we can just ease back into our routine so peacefully. We had some friends over both Saturday and Sunday, friends who, incidentally, only had boys.
Monday morning I arose refreshed from our vacation and a pleasant weekend of visiting. I made a delicious cup of tea and then headed into the shower. As I entered the bathroom, I noticed a decidedly acidic odor. I didn’t think too much about it in my happy state; better to solve the problem than to waste time contemplating it. I grabbed the cleaner, sprayed down the toilet, then jumped in the shower. I went on my merry way feeling very happy with the world.
That afternoon when I returned home, the bathroom still stank of eau d’urine. Feeling a little less charitable with the world, I got out the rubber gloves and got down on my hands and knees to scour the living daylights out of the toilet. BUT it was this deep investigation into the problem that provided me with my a-ha moment: there was urine all over the outside of the toilet! Nasty!
As I scrubbed away trying to neutralize the odor, my thoughts did drift back to all those comments about single gender children. Needless to say, I was feeling very smug. Except for a very short period of time when my youngest tried to watch herself pee (don’t ask, she wasn’t three yet) I have never had to address this particular cleaning dilemma. My husband, God bless his mother, has always had excellent accuracy, and with three girls in the house, this has always been a non-issue. Having restored olfactory peace to the room, and possibly to some dormant maternal need, I left the bathroom smiling.
Fast forward to this past Saturday morning and our Saturday chores. I head to the bathroom to clean the mirror and notice a small pile of random hair bands, chap stick and little what-nots. Being a good mother, I picked up the pile intending to put it all in its proper place when a small container falls. Of glitter. And it’s open. Little silver flecks fall all over the bathroom counter. And the sink. And the floor.
Now, if you have only boys, you may not know that glitter functions a lot like Christmas tree needles. No matter how hard you vacuum, wash, or scrub, some of it will always be left behind. In fact, much like pine needles that you will be vacuuming up until next Christmas, I will probably be finding silver glitter for the next year.
As I sat there holding half a handful of a miscellaneous treasures, my jaw hanging open and my left eye twitching contemplating the effort that will be required to try to remove the majority of glitter, my gaze strayed to the toilet.
I couldn’t help it, I smiled; a chuckle or two may have escaped. Then I merrily went to grab the vacuum feeling that all is right with the world.