Anyone who has kids can tell you the absolute havoc they wreak on your house. From juice stains on the carpet to applesauce congealing on the walls to God-Knows-What-That-Mystery-Splotch-is in the bathroom sink, having kids means that you will now spend much of your time cleaning up after them.

But note that ‘cleaning up after’ someone does not equate to actual cleaning. It’s more like, picking up after them, wiping up after them, doing everything you can to keep your house from looking like a landfill for the Island of Misfit Toys. Legos, Matchbox cars, balls of various sizes and shapes; it's like your children are leaving a trail of toys merely so they can find their way back to their rooms.

You may spend a lot of time noticing things that need to be cleaned, but not a lot of time actually cleaning anything. So when you actually get a moment to clean something properly, just worry about the basics. Vacuuming can make a house that might be declared a biohazard suddenly look as tidy as a putting green. And you can dust, but you may want to employ what I like to think of as the Indiana Jones Method: Blow. Just blow on the dust, watch is swirl around in the sunlight, and then vacuum.  In the bathrooms, instead of using a sponge and some 409 to wipe down the counters, you may want to consider using a wad of dampened toilet paper. In a pinch of course. If you're two-year-old has been coughing all over the place, please use the former means of cleaning. But if no one in your house is sick, and your mother-in-law is popping in for a visit, don't hesitate to reach for the TP. The aesthetic results will be identical.

Which brings us to laundry. Yes, it never ends. For a while, I was convinced that my clothes were having sex. It was the only explanation for what was happening in my laundry room. Every time I popped in to toss an undershirt or pair of pants in the hamper, I swear to you that my piles of clothes had multiplied. Socks I didn’t remember even owning were popping up in strange places, shirts I swore I’d given away were returning like polyester boomerangs, waiting to be folded and placed inside a dresser drawer, where they would likely have more sex. One particular pair of my husband's shorts, ones I knew I'd thrown into the garbage at least twice because they were holier than a Baptist choir, reappeared in the dryer, acting all innocent, as if I'd never really intended to get rid of them--they'd fallen into the garbage can accidentally. I became kind of afraid of them, afraid that if I tried to toss them in the trash one more time they'd come back and smother me in my sleep.

The hamper is never empty, either. I don't think I've ever seen the bottom of it. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe where a bottom should be is really a portal into another dimension, where mountains of jeans, tank-tops and footie-pajamas are waiting for their window, their chance to leap into my laundry basket and get busy with whatever clothing is there.

You will never do more laundry than you will once you have children. And not just because you have more clothes to wash. Before children I didn't have to change clothes two seconds after getting dressed because I'd just been spit-up on. I didn't have to wash piles of Kool-Aid stained t-shirts or bibs encrusted with bananas. And I never had to wash my own sheets because of spilled chocolate milk or boogies because God forbid my son actually use a tissue to wipe his nose. I should buy stock in Tide and Downy...I go through it by the barrel.

It's only gonna get worse. Soon my son will be at the age when boys think rolling around in the mud is the most fantastically fun thing they've ever done or will ever do in their lives. He'll start coming home with bloodstained pantlegs and marker on his sleeves. And my daughter, who knows what sort of havoc she'll wreak on her pretty little pink outfits. I'm seriously considering dressing my children completely in black for the next ten years. Sure they'll look like creepy little goth kids, but at least they won't be sporting stubborn ketchup stains.

So remember, kids: Blow on dust, wipe with toilet paper, and don't forget to spay and neuter your laundry!