The chaos in which I live
To say that I am not a domestic goddess would be putting it kindly. I am not good at housework. It's not that I don't want to be. Really, I love nothing better than a tidy house. I am a perfectionist through and through. I get it from my dad. It's just that housework doesn't come easily to me. No matter how much time I spend tidying up, it never seems to make a dent in the disaster area we live in. There are many factors that contribute to this problem, but the main one is me. I am not good at managing my own time. Time slips away from me too easily (while doing rather non-productive things like blogging, for instance), leaving me feeling behind before I've even begun. But to make myself feel better, I'm also going to fill you in on a few of my other excuses.
- My house is old. Yes, this is a valid argument. Our house is 83 years old. It was built in a different time for a different family. It is not as functional as it once was. We are severely lacking in storage space, and have a floor plan which is not conducive to quick cleaning. There are high ceilings which are hard to dust, and the most obnoxious textured paint in every single room.
- My children are Steven Spielberg in the making. They are not the sort of kids that play with one or two toys at a time. When my boys play, there are epics in the making. They are not satisfied until they've incorporated every single toy they own into their play. Attempts to sidetrack the madness are met with swift and decisive tantrums. This makes it much more difficult to make them responsible for their own messes. It takes them literally hours to clean up everything they've gotten out. They know this, and like to take even longer, so as to get out of going to bed on time.
- My husband is a messy guy. He throws things on the floor, even if where they belong is just as close at hand. He does lots of things well, but picking up after himself is not one of them. I love him anyway.
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