Yesterday I didn't do squat. My house is a pit. Really. It's bad. Embarrassingly bad. And what am I doing right now? Not cleaning it, that's for sure. Nope. I'm blogging.
This morning before church Paul and I got in a medium-sized fight. He slept in the recliner while I got all three kids ready, got them settled in front of the TV after threatening them to NOT mess up their hair, then I took a shower and when he finally woke up and decided to get around I was in the middle of my makeup and hair and he was mad that I wouldn't go to the other bathroom except the other bathroom doesn't have any electrical outlets and well, I can't dry my hair if my hair dryer isn't plugged in. Geesh. All he was gonna do was shave. Geesh.
Then got my toes stepped on at church. But I guess if your toes are stepped on at church, they're probably out there in the way to begin with.
Then Heather and Mom and I got in a big ol' fight. It was nasty. It's better now, but it was still a tear-fest while it was going on. Mom and I never fought. Mom and Heather fought. Heather and I fought. Heather would've fought with the Pope, Ghandi and Mother Theresa had she been given the chance. She's tired, stressed and frustrated. But still...man, does she have some claws.
Now it's 11:30, my house is a pit, I'm tired and Chandler will be here in the morning. Poor Jill. I know it pains her to leave her child in this filthy house every day. Her house is perfect. I'm talking like Better Homes perfect. Surely that has to get old, that having a clean house thing. Doesn't it? I mean, I wouldn't know. I just think it'd get boring having everything in it's place all the time. No toys to trip over, no laundry piled in the hall, no dirty dishes in the sink and the dishwasher full of clean ones that you haven't gotten around to unloading, no errant linoleum-dancing mice traipsing about in your utility room....yeah, this life I lead is too exciting to give up for a Better Homes fantasy.
Btw, we caught another mouse last night. *shudder*