Forgive me. I know, I know, my trademark is that I don't give a royal housecleaning crap, but... well, I had to. I've excavated the kitchen table TWICE in one week, and then? And THEN? I ORGANIZED. It was horrible-- traumatic even. I went through stuff, I threw shit away. I... (oh gods... so hard to even say!)
|Stivie and Zoomboy, hiding Chicken who|
didn't want her picture taken.
Yeah. I did. I succumbed to the notion that I AM the woman, and housecleaning WAS my venue, and I made my house a home. I'm not proud. It was a (really) dirty job, but somebody had to do it.
|Everybody inside, because it was a little too|
bright. Note dusted shelf. I know, you can't
see it, but it's there.
Well, yeah. It's been a while since my last blog. I'm sorry. But don't worry-- it's not going to happen again for a LONG, LONG time. Swear.
|Squish, looking radiant with the sun in her |
|Has already found all eggs.|
|My ginormous son and his precious|
|Mate and I, doing ritual fist bump|
for managing to be grownups
for one more holiday. Go us!
Now THAT'S what I call a holiday.