Are there biological substances to be cleaned up somewhere in the house? That would be Dad’s job.

Somewhere along the way, probably dating back to the mid-90s when we lived in our old house, it became my job (and almost exclusively my job) to clean up any and all bodily fluids and excretions deposited in inappropriate places.

You would assume I’m talking about pet messes, and I am. But human accidents also qualify. One time, when one of our children was very young, he/she stood at the top of our stairs (still clearly asleep), said the words “I can’t take it anymore,” and proceeded to pee in a manner that the urine ran down the first several of the carpeted stairs.

Terry cleaned up the child, I cleaned up the carpet.

It’s not that I’m any better at this task than anyone else, mind you. I’m just more willing to literally get my hands dirty, I guess.

This has all become more relevant in recents weeks as we have undertaken various home renovations, from a new basement floor to redoing our master bathroom.

Anyone who has ever endured home improvement projects knows a certain amount of chaos is inevitable. Your life and your routines get turned on their ear for a time, which is fine when it comes to the humans in the house.

Our five cats, however, don’t take change well. Or at least the older few don’t.

The result has been that Fred, my longtime feline companion, has taken to peeing in places that are decidedly not his litter box. I’ve stepped in and/or cleaned up more cat pee in the last few weeks than probably the last several years combined.

We’ve tried almost everything you can do to get him to stop, but as of this writing, we’re leaning toward a solution that has worked in the past with Fred. It’s likely we’ll be locking him up in our basement storage room for a week or so with his special urinary tract food, water, and a litter box so that he can retrain himself around where and where not to pee.

I imagine this will go a long way toward solving the problem, but I’m sad at the idea of putting Fred in kitty prison for a week because, you know, he’s my buddy. We spend a lot of time together, and I know the days of his confinement will be nothing but misery for him.

But then the stench of cat pee fills my nostrils again and I become resolute. Fred, you are hereby sentenced to a week in The Hole. Your only hope is to remember that we buy that expensive Arm & Hammer kitty litter every few weeks for a reason, my friend.

UPDATE 5/16/21: Since this was written, Fred did spend the better part of two weeks in the storage room, and the messes stopped. He also went to the vet and was diagnosed with a thyroid condition that likely contributed to the peeing problem. He is now on a day-release program (he only spends nights in cat jail) and is doing well, and has just started a course of medicine that should help. Go Fred!

At what age do you start noticing you've left crumbs on the counter?

I'm trying to think back to when I first became aware of my own household messes and the need to clean them up.

I'm not talking about cleaning your room when you're a kid, but more like the debris you leave behind when you make yourself something to eat in the kitchen.

I assume, at some point when I was growing up, it finally entered my consciousness that:

(A) Hey, I just made a sandwich and I notice there are bread crumbs and a tiny dab of mustard on the counter.

(B) Mom would clean that up if I just walked away, but she shouldn't have to do that.

(C) I'm going to use a wet dishrag and wipe down the counter before I go back to my room.

I don't remember it, but I also assume that, prior to this moment, I pretty much just walked away, oblivious to the fact that I had left my mother yet one more household task to handle.

I bring this up this because there are crumbs left on our kitchen counter all the time. Like almost every day. I'm not quite sure which resident of our house is doing it, but I know it's not me, and I can say with certainty it's not Terry.

Which leaves the three of our kids who still live with us. Rarely does anyone ever own up to having done it, but I don't even care about that so much as imparting the valuable life lesson that you must be aware of your own messes and clean them up.

Is this something you learn from your parents? Or does it just suddenly dawn on you as one of the major milestones in the maturation process?

And none of this "I was going to come back later and clean it up." You make a mess, you clean it up right away.

The only exception is if the house is on fire. And even then, you clean up that counter if the flames are two or more rooms away.

One of my fatal flaws: Cleaning up messes my kids make

Any parent with a lick of common sense knows what to do when a child leaves a dirty dish in the living room or their clothes on the floor.

You call them back and you make them clean it up.

Otherwise, how will they ever learn to be responsible? How will they become well-adjusted adults who can be relied on to clean up after themselves?

I absolutely get the logic here. I'm just not good at following through on it.

Quite often, someone in our house will make some sort of mess. I will walk through the room, observe the mess, and proceed to clean it up.

Later, a scene like this will take place:

TERRY (to child): Are you going to clean up the potato chip crumbs you spilled on the couch?

CHILD (after much grumbling and walking over to the couch): They're not there!

TERRY: What do you mean they're not there?

CHILD: The crumbs are gone.

TERRY (after a moment's thought and a scowl): SCOTT!!!! DID YOU CLEAN UP THE POTATO CHIP CRUMBS?!?

In most cases, yes, I did.

I shouldn't do this. I know it. It's just...I have no patience for messes, it takes effort to go and get the child and make them clean it up, and honestly, I'm going to do a better job of it anyway.

This is a terrible philosophy. I'm going to be 90 years old and my kids will call me saying, "Uh, Dad, I spilled juice all over the couch. Can you come over and clean it up?"

And I will. Let it be known, too, that that couch will be like new in 15 minutes.

Let's take a tour of all the stuff around my house that has been left on the floor for someone else to clean up

I just spent three minutes walking around my house taking pictures of items that have been left on the floor by my family, apparently in the confident expectation that someone else will come along, pick them up, and put them back in their rightful place.

As you might expect, this is just a fraction of the mess that is our home. The full scope of the slobishness would be too depressing to chronicle.

Here we go! Let's start in the living room:

So what do we have here? Looks like a pillow from the couch, a blanket that should have been folded up and put back into the closet, and a lonely little cup that's thankfully empty and not spilling its contents onto the floor. That's probably the only mess in the living room, right? Hahahaha! You're funny.

A few feet away is this open box of cereal and a coffee mug, both of which have probably been there since last night because, you know, why put them away when you'll probably use them again?

And oh, look at this in front of the chair! It's a bunch of Xbox controllers and headphones. Because, again, I'm sure someone in our family whose name rhymes with Herod will be playing Xbox again sometime soon, so it's just more convenient to leave everything out so he can pick right up where he left off!

This is our cat Bert catching some sun rays by the window. It's OK that he's on the floor. I just think it's funny when, on a relatively warm day, an already-fat-and-fluffy cat feels the need to lay in the sun. Since we're by the stairs, let's move to the second floor and see what's going on up there...

The fun begins right at the top of the stairs. I'm not even sure what the situation is here, other than that there appears to be an abandoned clock radio and a sponge. You guys, I can't even...I just...sigh.

Nearby is...a curtain rod holding what I think is referred to as a "valance." Is that right? In any case, while I may not be the world's leading home improvement expert, I'm pretty sure a valance doesn't belong on the floor.

Near the stairs we find, I don't know, more stuff that shouldn't be there. Why doesn't the person to whom these items belong come and pick it all up? I realize that would be an act of unselfishness unparalleled in our family annals, so perhaps I'm asking too much.

This is the only picture I'm going to show you from the room in which two of my daughters live, because we could do a long series of these posts just in that area alone. Of all the many things on the floor in there, this pile of used tissues is my favorite. If you have a cold and need to blow your nose in the night, throwing tissues on the floor near your bed is fine. But when you get up in the morning, is it a great hardship to dispose of those tissues? (NOTE: This was taken around 4 in the afternoon, so even if these were just used last night, I in my slave driver fashion am thinking they should have been thrown away by now.) I need to get out of this room. In fact, I need to go back downstairs...

...to the kitchen! It's actually not too bad in here (today). But I did notice these headphones just sort of laying on the floor under the kitchen table. How and why does that happen? On second thought, don't answer that. Let's visit the basement.

At the bottom of the basement stairs is all of this. A nice mixture of winter and summer apparel, with a little kid's tray (the kind you attach to a table, I think) thrown in for extra special measure. And I think that's one of the kid's pool passes, as well. And we just got down here!

OK, this one is my bad. In the back room of the basement is this lonely dumbbell, just sitting all by itself instead of laying next to its compatriots in the little nook where the weights are kept. I don't even lift weights regularly, but somehow I managed to leave it out. Sorry about that.

There's all kinds of stuff clogging the floor of the front room of the basement, but in Terry's defense, it's because she's valiantly trying to clean that area. I just wanted to point out this red soccer sock next to the treadmill. Having five kids who all play soccer or have played soccer in the past, there are a LOT of soccer socks around our house. And shin guards. And jerseys. And shorts. And soccer balls. And cleats. And...you get the point. I'm just always amazed at how, even during the off-season, these soccer socks continue to clutter up the house.


OK, you know what? That's all we're going to do. Like I said, there's a lot more, but I can only do this for so long. One day when the kids are all moved out, I'm going to do a version of this post in which I take photos showing NO items left out on the floor. I'll be sad the offspring are gone, but having such a clean house is going to be awesome.

I can't even imagine it.

It's not my fault, says the youngster before me

I'm fairly certain my children will all end up being lawyers. And good ones, too. As far as they're concerned, none of them has ever actually been guilty of doing anything wrong.

It is not uncommon for me to have conversations that go like this:


ME: So let me get this straight...You're about to get on the bus without having written your English paper, which is due in 30 minutes because you have that class first period, and this happened DESPITE the fact that both your mother and I reminded you of it eight times each last night?

CHILD: Yes.

ME: And further, it is your contention that this circumstance is actually not your fault in any way?

CHILD: Yes.

ME: I see. While I doubt I really want to hear the answer, can you enlighten me as to why, pray tell, it is NOT your fault the English paper wasn't written?

CHILD: Mommy didn't wake me up early to write it.

ME: That's it? That's your reason? Did you ASK Mommy to wake you up early so you could write it?

CHILD: No, but she should have known.

ME: Really? So your mother should, for all intents and purposes, have anticipated your stunning irresponsibility and should have taken it upon herself – without you at least having made the request, mind you – to wake you up early to write a paper that should have been written a week ago? Is that what you're telling me here?

CHILD (entirely straight-faced): Well, yeah. Why is this so hard for you to understand?

ME: <speechless>


The thing is, they say this stuff with such conviction and force, they almost end up winning me over. I start to think, "Oh well, now I see. I guess I'll just write a note asking the teacher to excuse him from the assignment because his parents were negligent."

Fortunately, the forces of common sense generally prevail in my mind and I can only wonder where I went wrong with these children. Because you see, they BELIEVE this stuff. They perceive nothing wrong with leaving messes for their mother to clean up because, clearly, that's her JOB, right? She's their personal maid servant, and if she can't see that, well, then the problem is clearly with Mommy and not with them.

I will walk into the basement and find empty plates and cups left by someone who was probably down there earlier in the day (or even the night before) watching TV and having a snack. I will ascertain who this person is, go upstairs, and order them into the basement to clean up the mess. They'll do it, but only after giving me a look that says, "You want me to do what? Clean up after myself? Well, that's just unacceptable. What am I, your slave? You should have asked Mommy to do it."

Terry, for her part, has done very well over the years in that she has never actually murdered any of her children. And believe me, she may not admit it, but I know the thought has crossed her mind. I've seen that look in her eyes...it's a look you don't want to receive from anyone, let alone your mother. It's a look that says the electric chair may very well be worth it if only for the chance to strangle the 14-year-old before her.

In the interest of fairness, I should note that my children really are good kids, despite their father's influence. And this sort of thing doesn't happen all of the time. But it happens just often enough that Terry and I will have serious conversations that include the sentence, "Maybe five kids wasn't the best idea."

My only real hope, at this point, is that we can get through the next 15 years or so without Terry causing serious bodily harm to one of them. Keep Terry felony-free, that's pretty much all I'm aiming for between now and, say, 2030. If we can get there, I'll have done my job.