My house is clean.
Now, don’t get me wrong. There are still strange pictures of square-faced horses taped to the walls and I spy a granola wrapper underneath the dog crate. There are still swipes of grape jelly near the dining table and I just found a Sesame Street “Go Fish” playing card wadded up in the footrest of the reclining sofa.
But for our house, our family, this place is pretty darn clean. I’m exhausted and pleased, all at the same time.
I’m slowly, painfully discovering the key to living in 800 square feet with five (and a half) humans and three dogs involves keeping the house orderly. When you don’t have much space, six pairs of shoes spread out in front of the shoe rack can really mess with your psyche.
And, as much as I am not (nor will ever be) the kind of wife and mother who always has dinner ready and the children bathed and shiny faced at 5 p.m., I will acknowledge there’s a genuine sense of peace to an empty, clean kitchen sink and vacuumed living room.
Get this… even the socks are sorted and put away. Take that, laundry elves!
Somebody please slap me. If this trend keeps going I might go all Martha Stewart and try to do a craft. With glitter. Oh, dear heavens, somebody please stage an intervention!
Does your attitude change for the better when you become a “habitat hotshot”?