Whistling in the dark.

I'm tired. It's been a pretty normal Monday. Show up at work, stand around, do mostly nothing all day, be busy for about an hour, and then come home. Where. I. did. nothing. Sat around, made dinner, sat around, put Cole to bed, sat around. The last hour (post midnight) I finally got around to eating my own dinner and did all my floors and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. For some reason when I can't sleep - like tonight- I have to clean my house. When I'm stressed, I have to clean my house. When I have a headache, I have to clean my house. Yeah, the last one is defiantly into the area of slight neurosis.

I wasn't exactly a near freak growing up. When I was in college the most notable feature of my bedroom was a 6x8x3 pile of clean laundry which was where I stored most of my clothes. Then I had a kid and I turned into Rosie the Robot.

I've loosened up at lot. Like I said, I clean in response to stress, so I spent my whole marriage scrubbing everything in sight. Plus, it's pointless to run around cleaning things when there is a four year old two steps ahead of you. And since I want Cole to be responsible for himself, then I have to let him be responsible for cleaning up after himself, to a degree.

Of course, I'm not totally changed from my pre-Cole self. I still hate putting up laundry. I have a pile to put away and another pile to hang up right now. Eh, maybe tomorrow.