Whatever my ideal way to spend some alone time on Sunday might be, any extended period during which I’m left with an empty house in generally spent the same way: cleaning. Specifically, I vacuum, sweep, and mop the floors (which, regardless of how long it’s been since their last cleaning, always need it). For the parent of a two-year-old, there can be no endeavor more foolhardy and doomed to disappoint, because no matter how clean things get, the job you just spent an hour or more doing will be rendered pointless within minutes.
As Miles ate dinner tonight, one might have thought he was feeding both himself and the floorboards considering how much food was ending up down there. Muttering under my breath as I went to kitchen to grab some paper towels, I returned and got down on my knees to start cleaning. From his perch atop Jaclyn’s lap, Miles stared down at me.
“Miles, you know I just cleaned the floor today, right?” I asked, unable to conceal my disappointment.
“That’s funny,” he replied, just absolutely reveling in my misfortune.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 