Why Housework Is Bad For You

Oh, irony. It's a bitch, isn't it?

If you have read my previous blogs, you may remember that there has been a bit of banter between myself and Paco regarding mopping. It is something that I just don't do. Our kitchen floor is 400 miles long and it is bright white. So by the time you get from one end to the other, it is already dirty again. So, I made the decision to boycott mopping altogether. (My next floor will be a lovely dirt shade.) Paco is a bit OCD, and at least twice a week he is on his hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. (I LOVE that man!!!)

What's even worse is that our entire downstairs is Pergo flooring that is a complete nightmare to mop. It shows every mop mark, so you have to dry it as you clean it. It is really quite a process. And, it covers over 1000 square feet. So, you are panting and sweating by the time you are done cleaning it. It is a workout and a half. I literally wait until the dirt is about a 1/4 inch thick before tackling it. (Or until we have company coming over. That usually motivates me. Can't let our friends think we live like heathens. *cough*cough)

So, needless to say, when I decided to surprise Paco and mop the downstairs floor, it was not without drama. I was 95% finished mopping when I slipped on a wet spot and landed with all my weight square on my bad knee cap.

Boy did I see stars. And rainbows. And unicorns. And naughty gnomes. Immediately my eyes filled with tears and all the wind was sucked from my lungs. The impact of my fall rattled the windows and shook the foundation. The kids thought a bomb went off and came running to see what happened.

They found me on the floor unable to speak. The pain was so bad it knocked the breath out of me. I didn't dare speak for fear of the expletives that would come flying out. I was in PAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ace panicked and called my mother. "Gram. Mom's hurt. It's an emergency. I'm not joking. She fell. Get help and get up here."

My dear mother was there within minutes. She too was panting and sweating. God bless her, her blood pressure must've been through the roof. But, she stayed with me, iced my knee, and got the kids calmed down.

I was finally able to catch my breath. It was at this point that I realized we had a downed NFL linebacker on the floor with only a 65 year old and some toddlers to help her up. This wasn't going to be pretty. It took 20 minutes, 2 chairs, 2 percocet, my mother and my sister-in-law, but we eventually got me up off the floor and on my feet.

And lo and behold, I was fine. Yep, my brilliant surgeon did such amazing work that it was able to withstand a major earthquake. Yes, I was sore and a bit bruised, but I was able to walk and move my knee perfectly. PHEW!!

When Paco came home an hour later, I was propped up on the couch with an icepack. I was still sweating and panting and I looked like I had just finished a triathalon.

The first words out of his mouth were "So, who did you hire to clean the house?"

Um, whatthefrickdidyousay????

I was speechless.

"The house looks great babe. Who did you get to come and clean it?"

I am not proud of how I reacted. But, I was still in severe pain and I was on painkillers. So, when my head started spinning, my eyes glowed red, and the words "I will stab you ASSFACE" came flying out of my mouth, I wasn't completely in control.

Ace started crying. Deuce ran to his room. And Paco asked yet again who cleaned the house.

"I did you ungrateful turd and I managed to practically kill myself in the process!"

OK. So, clearly I have tarnished my Mother-of-the-Year tiara. And my Wife-of-the-Year trophy might be up for grabs. But, seriously, can't a girl get a little credit?

I apologized to my kids for my crazy outburst and I gently explained to them that the chemicals in the mopping cleaner makes Mommy act all crazy, and that is why Daddy should always do the mopping because it doesn't bother him. (Their future wives will thank me some day.) Then I bombarded them with chocolate and soda and my Mother-of-the-Year tiara was placed firmly back on my head.

And let it be said that housework CAN in fact be bad for your health. (And your spouses if they do not choose their words wisely.)