Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing. ~Phyllis Diller

My house is a freaking disaster area, and my lovely little pills seem to not be working quite as well as they should, so my OCD is kicking in big time. This post is for those of you who said how at home you’d feel in my house – if you could stand the mess, you are welcome anytime! But instead of cleaning up and straightening, what did I do? I sent the boys and Dan off to the Harvest Festival in the park, and I put Terce in the Snugli, took a long walk, and stopped at the coffee shop for a yummy cup of Indian Spice tea. I am trying out all their different types of tea, and this was a black tea with cinnamon and nutmeg. Yummy, especially with milk and sugar. Then I broke out my gardening gloves and pruned back brutally all my roses so they’ll come in nice and thick and lovely next spring. I admit, I inherited these roses from the previous owner, but they are gorgeous, and they line our yard on the alley side. The sky is clear blue, and the sun is shining, and the air is warm – it’s a perfect Indian summer day.
So the house remains a wreck.
As do I.
And so I run around taking pictures of the chaos instead of trying to rein it in.

I did manage the following:

Take down the Halloween decorations on the door

Put in a load of laundry from the mountain in the basement


Clean the upstairs bathroom

What remains:
Oh God, it’s too daunting to list.


So trust me, it’ll never all get done. The porch furniture needs to be covered and the cushions put away for the winter.The laundry must be folded and put away (although why do I bother? I should just make them dress themselves out of the laundry baskets, that’s how fast it turns around.) The downstairs needs to be vacuumed before all the loose fur self-generates into a third cat. Drapes must be measured and sewn for the living room before we get our first winter heating bill. The couch slipcover must be completed so people don’t assume that I think the red plaid matches the chocolate paisley rug and pale green armchairs.

The mail for the past two weeks needs to be sorted.


Things need to be returned – to the shoe store, to Amazon, to the daycare, to people who cooked us things in their very own nice pots.

An organ we were just given (don’t ask; because, yeah, we need more things that make noise around here…) needs to be cleaned and moved to its living spot, which means the toys need to be redistributed rather than just heaped in the middle of my dining room.



I believe this evening I am mixing a nice stiff Bacardi-and-Coke and writing thank-you notes for baby gifts:

Dear Aunt Mark and Uncle Betty, Thanks so very much for the loverly sleeper/creeper thingey for what’s-his-face, you know, that third kid of mine. Really appreciate it. He looks really adorable in it, if a bit blurry at the moment. Love, Us

Dear Grandma/pap, Thanks so much for the baby blanket whatsit. The cats love it. When I put him under it, they just lie ON TOP OF HIM. They apparently just adore the little tyke. Love, Us (but not the cats because I know how you hate the cats.)

Dear Cousin Myrtle, Thank you so very very much from the bottom of our hearts for the crisp new two-dollar bills for el bambino, and also for the gift certificate that expires at the end of this month for that flashy new restaurant. Perhaps if I did not have a baby attached to my boob 24-7, we could actually use it but I believe the maitre’d there might mind if I whipped out a breast to feed old squalling Jimbo right there among the starched white tablecloths and crystal stemware and filet mignon. I think. Thanks anyhoo. Love, Us

What? You think I’m not grateful? I am, so very. I’m just tired and trying not to rip my hair out because I cannot scrub my house from top to bottom. Shame I don’t have any Xanax to go with that rum…(kidding, kidding…)