Stock up, Clear out

A comedy of errors

Alright, gather ‘round. You’re about to hear the tale of my recent supermarket expedition that ended with a kitchen that looked like a scene from a disaster movie. Picture this: a big food shop that cost me a small fortune—fresh, frozen, laundry products, hygiene items—you name it, I bought it. My kitchen counters now looked like those TikTok videos where people go all “stock my fridge with me,” except mine was more “stock my fridge and have an existential crisis.”

At first, I was riding high, thinking, "No more complaints about the snack drawer being bare!” I mean, who wouldn’t be happy knowing that their kids can now have more than just a sad cereal bar for a midnight snack? But that blissful moment was soon shattered by an overwhelming wave of panic. Where the heck was I going to put all this stuff? I opened the pantry, and it looked like a bomb had gone off—clothes, shoes, random junk, and enough expired food to do a horror show on hoarding. Seriously, it was crunchy bean cans and dusty jars everywhere; was I secretly auditioning for the role of the Addams Family’s latest member?

In a fit of determination (and slight disgust), I started tossing things out. I swear there were cobwebs that would make any arachnophobe faint. And why was there mouldy food on the floor? Newsflash: cleaning out the pantry should NOT feel like a quest in a horror film!

My six-year-old, bless his heart, was dancing around me in nothing but his boxers and a blanket cape, wearing my enormous monster slippers like it was high fashion. Meanwhile, I’m not-so-silently eye-rolling, trying to maintain my sanity. At one point, my neighbour peeked her head out: “Having a clear-out?” Um, no, Karen, I’m just reliving my worst cleaning nightmares in front of a live audience. Thanks for asking!

So picture me, sorting through my personal landfill of a pantry while my 6 year old is literally sticking to me like a burrito. Every twenty minutes, my daughter pops her head in, demanding snacks like I’m some sort of culinary genie. I drag my overflowing bin bags to the bins out front, which are, of course, full. Welcome to trash mountain! Seriously, how do we have so much rubbish?

And just when I think I can catch a break, a putrid odour hits me like a brick wall it’s coming from the drain! Great. As if I needed another task on my to-do list. I suit up with gloves and tackle that disaster. It’s like my home is trying to win an award for "Filthiest Abode."

Finally, after three hours of scrubbing, vacuuming, and muttering sweet nothings to my formerly chaotic pantry, I managed to restore some semblance of order. It was far from perfection but would do until my next clean-out day (which will probably be in 2030 at this rate).

After all that, it was already time to start dinner. Chicken roasting in the oven, I hop into the car to pick up my youngest child, only to realise—plot twist!—the car is running on fumes! And of course, my six-year-old is still rocking those Minecraft PJs and my monster-sized slippers like it’s the next big runway trend. Just shoot me now.

Petrol filled, kid picked up, and back home, I tag team dinner prep with chaos. Garlic and herb roasted chicken, chips, and salad hit the table, and suddenly, it’s like I’m hosting a five-star restaurant. I’m feeling like a Rockstar parent… until my two youngest decide to channel their inner lunatics, running around like they’re on a sugar fuelled bender, and my twelve-year-old is blasting video game commentary loud enough to summon the neighbours.

As I lay down the law, trying to restore some order amidst the bedlam, my youngest, Zak, who should be in Slumber land, is still wide awake, bouncing off the walls like he’s consumed a lifetime supply of caffeine . It’s 11 PM, and I’ve officially reached my limit!

So, here I am, fighting the good fight against the relentless tide of chaos. If I ever forget why I stopped collecting things… well, I just need to remember this clean-out saga and embrace the lovely, messy life of being a parent. After all, perfect order can wait. Laughter and sheer insanity are so much more entertaining.

And who knows? Maybe next time, I’ll just order takeout and watch the madness unfold from a safe distance.

With love and a splash of humour,

FiveKidsOneMom ✌🏼