That’ll Show Me!!!

Noticed the lack of posts about what I’m actually doing to keep my home out of chaos right now?

I’ve been sharing slob-stories, storage frustrations, and decorating ideas, but not a single mention lately of sweeping the kitchen.

Yeah, that’s because . . . I  haven’t swept the kitchen.

My tunnel vision is bad right now.  This week is devoted to getting our church’s Christmas production ready to go up on Friday night.  I’ve been farming out my daughter to various all-day play dates, and spending my days gathering props and painting sets and moving furniture.

In the past, I’ve blamed these periods for taking my focus completely off of my home and keeping me from seeing how bad things were getting until they were horrible.

I think that was true.  But now, since I’ve been doing so much better for almost a year and a half, I’ve realized that I have been somewhat successful at curing my Selective Slob Vision.

Maybe not curing, but managing it.

I am now fully aware of how much worse my home is getting each day of this crazy week.

Yay.

Monday morning, I did see the pizza box from Sunday’s frantic why-didn’t-I-schedule-a-break-for-myself-between-the-acting-and-choreography-rehearsals supper.

And I left it there. 

I thought to myself, “No one is going to see my house this week.  It is perfectly okay to leave that pizza box there, and those two loads of maybe-I’ll-get-to-them-but-if-I-don’t-I’m-not-going-to-feel-bad-because-everyone-has-clean-socks-and-undies laundry can be walked on for a few more days, because I have a show to direct, and one week won’t kill us.”

But as I’ve said before, I live a life of irony.

Monday, I called upon a sweet homeschooled teenager to help me get things done.  When it was time to pick up my boys from school and take her home, I apologized for the state of the passenger seat of my Suburban.  We drove to her house, only to find that she was locked out.

Soooo, I . . . . invited her to . . . . come to our house while she waited for someone to get home.

Our disastrous pizza-box-on-the-floor-of-the-living-room-with-a-crust-sitting-on-top-oh-did-I-not-mention-the-crust-part-before house.

Our when-was-the-last-time-I-wiped-off-the-table-I-don’t-remember-having-spaghetti house.

Our hurry-kids-help-me-get-all-this-strewn-about-dirty-laundry-that-we’ve-been-walking-on-for-three-days-shoved-into-the-master-bedroom-before-she-gets-out-of-the-thank-goodness-it’s-actually-cleanish-bathroom house.

And I could go on with many more sentences-turned-into-adjectives-with-the-overuse-of-hyphen examples.

And on.

Thankfully, she’s a sweet girl and I don’t think that she’s posted pictures of my house on facebook yet.

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