On one hand I'm upset and disappointed that the past three day's I've had this headache and it's caused my house to start to fall apart...FAST. It's now resembling the chaos we enjoyed in the old house.
So much for 'who does what' around here...
And no, that's not a complaint on Bo's part. The man works late, comes home and does what he can, when he can. I appreciate everything that he does.
That's a complaint on my children.
I love you two, God knows I love you two. You are my world and the very reason I was put on this earth.
However, I was NOT put on this earth to pick up your shit.
Every day I was picking up the main areas of the house so that if anyone came by it wasn't an 'OMG I can't let anyone see this crap' moment. It wasn't decorating magazine, four star hotel perfect by any means, which is SO not my goal. I want a warm welcoming house thank you, not a sterile hospital room. Ick. But now, well now if anyone came over they'd be all 'this so feels like your home, it's a pig pen'.
There is stuff EVERYWHERE. It looks like something regurgitated the toys from the play room to every room in the house. Three days guys, three days and you've destroyed my house. How is that EVEN possible?
We will ignore the random cheesecake splatters and now chocolate cake splatters that I caused in the kitchen this week...ahem. How does one shoot cheesecake goop under the cabinets and in drawers anyway?
On the other hand, I'm not that worried. I mean, I am, there's a lot to do now and the more I feel like poo the more it multiplies my load, which we all know fucks up my world until I can't see straight to know what to do. But this whole 'I can do it' weird mentality that's come over me since moving in, keeps telling me it's ok, I've got this.
Well that is until I walk into the play room and see this
at which time I say fuck me sideways, fall to the floor and start singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to myself.
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