I have decided that anyone with kids who says their house is tidy and clean is lying. Their house is not clean. It’s a fucking disaster like mine.

Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I’m not wrong. THEY ARE LYING.

I don’t give a shit if they have photographic evidence on Instagram. You know they pushed all the crap out of the camera frame and stuck their kid against the wall in its slouchy cap and harem pants and posted it like it ain’t nothin.

YOU CAN’T FOOL ME.

My light may be dim but it ain’t that dim.

Or, I’m wrong. That happens. Been wrong at least 4 times so far this year.

But I have given this a lot of thought man, and I just don’t understand.

Last Friday morning I looked around and said to myself “What the actual fuck

If we don’t do the dishes. AFTER ONE MEAL.

has happened to my kitchen, living room, bathroom, hallways OhFuckItEveryRoomInTheHouse?”

It’s like all 6 inhabitants of this house walk around spewing toys, paper and dust from their fingertips.

And clothes. Oh my god the clothes. I hate clothes.

So anyway, Friday morning: I make a list for the 3 older kids. They each have their jobs, and I have mine. 1.5 hours of cleaning. Rocket, Ava, Georgie and me. Mac is at work.

Whine. Tears. Rage. Whatever offspring.

This ain’t my first rodeo. Do the damn work.

Rocket takes 50 minutes to unload the dishwasher. This baffles me. I tell him “We’re going to the beach once this is done so maybeYouShouldHurryUp. Miraculously, he does his other 5 chores in 12 minutes.

Uncool, Rocket. Uncool.

Arlo’s job here is to dump each pile onto the floor. Thank you, Arlo.

Georgia is 4 so her jobs require putting things in other things. For example, “Put the shoes in the shoe baskets.” Fortunately this is also a fun pastime for Arlo, though he more enjoys taking things OUT of things.

On Friday I watched Georgia load shoes into a basket while Arlo removed them from the other side of the same basket.

We are an efficient fucking machine.

But we managed to get it done.

The house is clean. Swept, mopped. Shit picked up. Vacuumed.

Full floor visibility. I feel like a domestic goddess. Where’s my motherfucking apron? Somebody bring your father a casserole.

I look around and feel good. I’m so capable. I can move mountains. Let’s move mountains!

Look at me walk on these wood floors without shit sticking to my feet! Oh glorious motherhood!

We go to the beach. We’re gone til 9pm. We wake up. We eat breakfast on Saturday. We leave for the entire day, get home at 8:30pm.

Wake up on Sunday, look around — AND THE WHOLE MOTHERFUCKING HOUSE IS EXACTLY LIKE IT WAS ON FRIDAY.

it’s pretty much never better than this unless we have people coming over.

It’s been 48 hours and it’s all gone. How is that even possible? We’ve only spent like 4 waking hours in the damn thing.

HOW PEOPLE HOW?

Then I curl up in the fetal position and weep and cry out unto the lord “No but seriously dude how the hell am I to survive in these conditions?”

In response I hear only the sound of the cat food overturning across the living room floor which Arlo will surely begin eating within 44 seconds. (What is it with babies and pet food?)

Sometimes I feel defeated. Not gonna lie. Like when I open the hall closet and see my husband has decided a good place for cockroach catchers we’ll never use (given to us by the exterminator) is in the basket with the sunscreen and goggles in the linen closet.

Or when I FINALLY remove the 396 garments that no longer fit the baby and organize his dresser drawers FINALLY and one of the older kids “puts away clothes” by shoving random piles diagonally across my beautiful rows until the drawers won’t close. AGAIN.

Sometimes my life feels like one missing shoe and drawers that won’t close.

Ya feel me?

I know. I know it’s not that big of a deal. And I know it’s “nice” that my kids attempt to put clothes away and that we can afford an exterminator who gives complimentary cockroach catchers and that I even have a house and kids and husband at all and yes someday I’m sure I’ll miss the pitter patter of tiny feet dragging my household organization attempts into the fort they just built with clean sheets over a sticky kitchen table.

And newsflash yes I know I’m not “defined” by the condition of my house or car and blah blah fucking blah I’M NOT ASKING FOR MUCH HERE PEOPLE.

After one hour of “playing.” REALLY KIDS REALLY?

A visual on the floor of my car, perhaps.

A reduction in strange substances dried onto the floor.

300% fewer toys showing up on my floor even though I take shit to the Goodwill every week it seems.

Maybe a Level 1 instead of Level 4 hurricane in the bedroom after the kids “play.”

PICK UP AFTER YOURSELVES YOU TINY INSANE CREATURES.

People tell me it’s that easy: “Just have the kids pick up after themselves. Before they get out a new activity have them clean up the old one.”

Would somebody kindly explain how the fuck I’m supposed to do that WITHOUT becoming Stalin? 

So maybe that’s it. Maybe I just refuse to become the type of person I would have to become to keep a tidy house all the time.

Or maybe I’m inept.

Let’s go with the former. It makes the circus seem intentional and therefore slightly more palatable.

Or something.

On the plus side, we cleaned the refrigerator, so we can definitely look forward to 4 hours of clean refrigerator.

AT LEAST. Go team.

I am however unwavering in my devotion to making my bed each morning. ha. ha. ha.

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Did you see what I did there? I used sarcasm to explain how annoying it is when people can’t read sarcasm.

(Actually it was hyperbole but if I say “hyperbole” my joke won’t work and it’s humor above accuracy here, people.)

The point remains: If you read that sentence and are now saying to yourself “Well that’s offensive! My Christian sensibilities are officially offended!”

THIS POST IS FOR YOU.

I don’t know what sort of excessive-focus-on-the-literal death hovel you grew up in, and I suppose I should have compassion for those who lack the ability to see when somebody is fucking joking, but I’ve tried working with you. I’ve tried being patient, but you aren’t getting better.

It’s like you’re not even trying. I write something completely ridiculous and there you appear, eventually, lurking in the shadows of intelligent life, peeking your head around the corner and tapping away, earnestly, just long enough to make me wonder what, exactly, is wrong with humanity. We’re all happy and laughing until BOOM. You appear, with your heartfelt helpfulness and misguided appraisal.

In other words, you ruin everything.

You need to get off the internet.

Or stop commenting. That would also work.

But, because I’m not totally heartless, I’ve decided I’m going to give you a list of pointers to help you read sarcasm because thou shalt love thy enemies or some shit.

Here we go:

Hint #1: If a person openly says something that could get them arrested, there’s a good chance that person is joking. For example, in this post, I suggest that every time your husband pisses you off you should kick him in the balls. Now let’s work through the possibilities here:

Option 1: Woman actually in real life physically abuses her husband then writes about it on the internet.

Option 2: Woman is joking.

Which do you think is more possible? See? This is not hard. This is actually quite easy. You’re going to be fine.

YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BE FINE YOU NEED HELP AND I HATE YOU.

Hint #2: If everybody else on the thread is commenting with words like “LOL” and Buahahahahahaha” and “OMG Dying” and “Hilarious!” and “I needed a laugh this morning,” CHANCES ARE YOU ARE READING A PIECE OF HUMOR.

NASA science right here.

That was sarcasm. Not actually NASA science. NASA science is difficult this is not difficult which is why you infuriate the rest of us with your defective reading skills.

Maybe you don’t think sarcasm is funny. Maybe you think it’s crass and base and unrefined. Perfect. Perfection. That’s amazing.

As long as you know it’s a joke, we’re good. I can work with you.

But that’s the thing, most of your kind don’t even recognize the joke AS A FUCKING JOKE even though the hyperbole is dripping from my fingertips as quickly as the point of life is screaming past your head.

Which brings me to helpful hint #3: If it seems ridiculous, it probably is. For example, in this post I say that all people with tidy houses are lying. Hmmmm. Let’s work through this for a moment. What are the chances I really think having a clean house literally never happens?

Slim, right? I mean, that doesn’t even make sense. You really think an adult human could live her whole life having never witnessed a neat person with kids?

Wait. What’s that you say? Matt Walsh is fucking ridiculous and he’s serious as hell? GOOD POINT VERY GOOD POINT. Some people have absolutely inane ideas and aren’t kidding at all (sadly), which means we have to look for keyword pointers to indicate whether we’re reading a piece of sarcasm or seriousness.

Going back to the “All people with clean houses are lying” concept: After that brilliant assertion, I write:

“You can’t fool me. My light may be dim but it ain’t that dim. Or, I’m wrong. That happens. Been wrong at least 4 times so far this year.”

 BOOM THERE IT IS: “Been wrong at least 4 times so far this year.”

Self-deprication. Ridiculousness. “My light may be dim” – I’M CALLING MYSELF A MORON then following it up with “But I’ve only been wrong 4 times this year.”

Please for the love of all that’s holy work with me here. Those words are ridiculous. Those words are giant flags waving in the abandoned desert of your mind. On them are written: This broad is not serious.

But no. You refuse to see it. You insist on writing comments like “How dare you imply that my housekeeping is not real.”

And (this one is direct quote): “Maybe your house, but I know plenty of mothers who have a tidy house, AND have time for their kids. What a negative article!”

Yes, it’s negative. Of course it’s fucking negative. That’s what dark sarcastic assholes like me live for. Why?

Because it’s funny.

I know. This is all very complicated. I’ve written 869 words attempting to help you learn how to read sarcasm/satire/hyperbole and I’m guessing your head is just spinning because throughout this post there are threads of sarcasm and now you just don’t know WHERE to turn – Is she serious or not?! – AM IF OFFENDED OR NOT I NEED TO KNOW HOW OFFENDED I SHOULD BE

so to simplify I offer this helpful flow chart.

Learn it. Live it.
Don’t be the antichrist.