We’ve been dogsitting for some friends…we’ll call them Mr. Communicative and Mrs. Cleanly (I’m actually laughing out loud as I type that…even though I’ve known I was going to type it...)
Anyway, Mr. Communicative and Mrs. Cleanly’s house…well, let’s just say Mrs. Cleanly is ironic. Very, very, very ironic.
But as I’m looking around at the disaster that is their home, I think…my God, this could happen to anyone! One day the shirt you throw at the laundry basket tumbles off the top of the pile, the next day the closest door won’t close, and then suddenly half the room is full of clothes. So many clothes that even when you do a load or two, you’re overwhelmed and can’t even convince yourself to finish folding them all. Or maybe you don’t have time to because your two-year old is being anything but helpful and quite enjoying strewing the newly cleaned clothes around the remaining uncluttered sections of floor. So you stop. And then they’re covered with dog hair and wrinkled and pretty much dirty again anyway.
And the day you’d thrown that first shirt that overflowed the laundry basket was the day of your child’s birthday party, and at that party he received such an inordinate number of gifts that you literally don’t have room to store them all in your home, and your living space is quickly being encroached upon by toys that are actually “away.” Not to mention the toys that are quickly and easily dumped by joyous hands: blocks, cars, balls…everywhere.
And while you’re busy worrying about the tragedy that is your laundry situation, suddenly the kitchen rebels from lack of attention and the dishes overflow the sinks, the counters are covered with food stains, the stove is protesting by flinging grease and garbage, paraphernalia, crap piles any open space. (The easiest thing to do in this instance is blame your husband, of course, and try to convince HIM to clean it, thus washing your hands of the situation altogether...)
And suddenly your house looks just like theirs. And then maybe some evil “friend” will write a nasty blog to nationally publish your disgrace as a housekeeper too.
Needless to say, I came home from feeding the dogs and began organizing toys, scrubbing counters, cleaning the stove, polishing the table, swiffer-ing the floor, and yelling at the Unsupportive Louse for letting things get SO out of control. (After all, it is CLEARLY his fault.) He raised his eyebrows at me and went back to his video game.