I am Mommy-ella.

Ever have a day where you look around your house, survey the destruction and do a cost/benefit analysis of just burning the motherfucker to the ground?

Who needs all this stuff anyway. We will change our names, start over in a new town and own only disposable and self cleaning items.

But alas, I don't want to do 5-10 for laziness inspired arson.

So I have to try to tackle this. And everywhere I look, piles of shit.

Piles of dishes, piles of laundry, piles of paper, piles of garbage, piles of toys.

I'm lucky that I have yet to find an actual pile of shit.

I finally stood up and said to myself that there is work to be done... And I seem to be the only one who's gonna do it. I am the cleaning bitch. I am our household's Cinderella.

Not the happy-song-singing-birds-and-mice-helping-me-sew-balancing-tea-cups-on-my-head-cheery-cleaning-bitch, Cinderella.

I'm the one where she can't handle the nagging stress and constant demands of the household cleaning duties and starts dropping acid, thinks she is dancing the night away with the prince, and comes to around midnight to find herself gnawing on the leg of one of her dismembered step-siblings.

And then it hits her that SHE is still the one who is gonna have to clean up the gooey corpse mess.

I am that Cinderella. And before you ask, no, I'm not going to murder anyone.

But because our house is a disaster and something needs to be done...

I will be the hero that they need me to be.

I am the one who knows if that's a bug or an old raisin.

The cleaner of puke.

The pissed on and the pissed off.

I am Mommy-ella.

Just don't expect me to be happy about it.