Where is that smell coming from? Or the story of my life.

I've been between cleaning ladies for a year now. Which has happened to me frequently over the years and, unfortunately, even more frequently since I acquired a bunch of constantly dirty, mess-making, bad smell factories, aka a family.

Life was so much easier (and smelled so much better) when all I had to contend with was the dog! Yes, she was stinky and I had a couple of roommates who would actually wash her behind my back and show me the pictures after wards, they were so bothered by her stench. But she is a tiny dog and the mess she generated was proportional.

Yes, there was also the cat, and its constant shedding. And its litter box.  Interestingly, that smell was taken care of when I switched from the expensive hollistic cat food to the cheap generic kind. I don't know about its health, but the smell of its poop was much improved! The shedding problem I took care of by giving the cat away.

Then came Hubby and his lizards. With them, it wasn't so much the smell as the runaway crickets, who escaped their sad destiny by sneaking out of the lizards' cage and then dying somewhere in the house.

Then we had big M. I was a MANIAC with baby number one! She was so clean all the time, you could eat off her (except you couldn't 'cause that would be too messy)! The house was always immaculate and her toys always put away neatly in a very specific order. But really, before they can move, babies are very low maintenance, especially if you have just one! Yes, there's the diapers, but with a Diaper Genie, that's not so bad. And okay, the high chair gets kind of sticky, but mealtime is a very well-contained mess, especially when you have a dog to clean up the floor every time there's a tiny spill. And big M liked to play with books when she was a baby. Board books are a cinch to put away, even in alphabetical order.

In those days, ours was a house of clean, uncluttered space upon which the sun shone, highlighting our spotless hardwood floors (free of dead crickets. The lizards went the way of the cat once I caught big M with a dead bug in her, tiny, immaculate fist, making its way to her mouth).

So up to that point, things on the cleanliness front were actually hopping (if you'll pardon the pun) until, that is, we got the bunny. I wanted the bunny. I loved the bunny. I pleaded with my husband, begged, swore I would take care  of him all by myself. Hubby'd never have to help, I promised.

Stupid thing (the rabbit, not the husband, although now that I think about it, the husband was a bit dim also, to believe me and/or agree to the bunny. Does the man not know me???). The bunny made a MESS and it chewed up all of big M's furniture and it stank and it ate like a horse and pooped CONSTANTLY. And of course my poor husband got stuck cleaning the cage, since I had the perfect excuse of being pregnant (handy excuse for anything, really). But the bunny was cute, I'll give it that. Still, it didn't last.

Exit the bunny, enter little M.

Now that I had two kids, I had less energy to care about the cleanliness of my children's surroundings as well as less time to pick up big M's growing messes. By age two, my daughter had somewhat set aside her fondness for books and moved on to an all-consuming addiction. She was totally insatiable and completely enabled by yours truly. She was on a one-to-two a week habit. Indeed, she had and still has, the New Doll monkey on her back.
At last count, there were about 40 of them (I am not exaggerating!!), some so life-like as to give me a heart attack if I trip on them, thinking I've just crushed my own infant baby by falling on top of it! And they are EVERYWHERE. In the high chair, in the car seat, in the car, inexplicably sticking out of an empty box of diapers, under my bed, in my bed, in the hamper, in the dryer, on top of the actual baby, under the actual baby, in the tub, in the yard. In short, any surface, conceivable or not has a baby somewhere on it. Even the playroom has one or two rejects left in it.
And these forty babies are all naked.
Because the first thing that must be done as soon as a baby is acquired is to remove its clothing (because one can) and then never put it back on (because only mom can and she stopped wanting to about 25 babies ago).
And they all have names.
Since big M has started being solely in charge of the Baptisms, it's  been nothing but names like Rose or Rosalie or Rose Button or Rose Petal or Rose Bud or Rose Bush or any other of 15 variations on that lovely color (big M's favorite).

Picking up the dolls was not something I could stay on top of, even were I so inclined.

And THEN, little M became ambulatory and started actively participating in the mess-making, with the dolls (he likes them too) or his hard plastic dinosaurs, with their spiky tails and horns, which always end up poking the most sensitive part of my sole when I step on them.

And little M also likes to keep his shoes on in the house. Really, really likes to. And if not caught in time, he will bring outside grime onto my already grimy floor (annoying, but the floor is gross anyways), onto my lovely leather couches, and into my (I really do try to keep it that way, even though it's the kids' favorite place for a snack or for building a sandcastle or painting a picture...) clean bed.

Thus, now that baby M has arrived, with his clammy, hairless skin, to which dirt always sticks to, he is most days covered in a fine, uniform layer of hair, sand, dust, and grit, with thicker even more disgustingly fascinating layers of grunge between his toes and fingers and the folds of his neck. But I haven't given up completely, I do try to give him a bath every day or at the very least, every other day...

So here it is: the present time. Far from the sanitary existence we enjoyed with only Princess M and ourselves to clean up after, all surfaces of our living space not otherwise covered by gravel or grime or a toy is now covered by a pile of dirty laundry or an overflowing basket of clean clothes.

And this chaos, you'll understand, renders investigations into the provenance of an objectionable odor much more difficult than it once was. And on top of it, since the dog is getting old and has started  smelling like, well, old dog and sometimes poops on the rug, my life has been reduced to sniffing the air or a baby's butt and seeking answers to a few unanswerables, like "Where is that smell coming from?"
Or variations on the same theme, including, but not limited to:
"Honey, did you forget to take out the garbage again?'
or
"Sweetie, did you remember to flush this time?"
or
"Where exactly did you "throw out" baby M's diaper to "help out" mommy?"
or (gross but true)
"Did the neighbors' stupid cat get in the house and pee somewhere again?"
or
"Why did you say yes to the gerbils?? Did you learn nothing from the bunny debacle???"
 or (on a more proactive note)
"Where's the Febreeze?"

But when all is said and done and considering that even if I were to clean the house relentlessly, without rest or sustenance, every day and night for ever and ever, I could still not win the war on messiness, the only question left to ask, really, is:
"Does anyone know a good cleaning lady?"