It finally looks like humans live here.

Well, at least downstairs. And in the children’s rooms. But the other 2 bedrooms, one of which is the master, NNNOOOO. It looks like vagabonds live there. Sqatters. But just so everyone knows, my husbands side of the room is way worse than my side. So there.
Why is my house so trashed you ask, when I work outside the home only part time? WELL, let me tell you. Because when I am (partying, drinking copious amounts of hot coffee, and chatting it up at the water cooler), working hard, either my husband is home taking care of the kids, or my mother in law is. All 4 have the same obnoxious gene coarsing thru their veins. It’s the gene that likes nothing more than kicking my poor house’s ass. That is why when I pull into the driveway I swear I can hear the house sigh with relief because it knows that soon it will be rescued by a slightly obsessive transported New Yorker.
It actually takes me 2 to 3 days to get the house back in shape. Sometimes I just sit amongst the filth, I mean artistic ruin that is my kitchen, drink coffee, and wonder where I should begin. Oh, it is a slow process, but then eventually it gets done. That’s when my mother in law comes back, and says, “Oh, your house is so clean!” Yeah, she should know, since the last time she was here she sucked the Lysol out of the very pores of my house, and now is wondering how I got it back in. Cheers to Lysol.


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