It all started last night when Child Number Three forced me to become a housewife. I never strive to becoming the model housekeeper, for there is far too much upkeep involved. I don’t want the house to always be glistening in the sunlight. I have gotten used to the floating dust storms that occur every time something is moved or even looked at. I would much rather sit back and watch a few shows and make a couple of crafts. Where is the fun in working my butt off to follow all the homemaking gurus in all their advice books in their attempt to turn Mess Queens into Domestic Goddesses. Where are all the guides to Becoming A Happy Mom with Loads of ME Time? Why must we burden ourselves to prove to our friends how perfect we are?
Because we aren’t.
Sometimes my house is clean, and sometimes it is hard to tell if it there is even a floor. Read the rest of this entry