In which we learn of pillow forts, rainboots, and the enemy of cleaning.

Ahh, another average day. After a really late night. Hubby got off early last night due to lightning and decided we needed to head off to Giant Super Mart of Everything. This is the point where I say that his shift is 4pm - 2am, so early is 11:30pm. Young'uns were asleep (or at least getting there), but hey hey! GSMoE is open 24 hours! So, up with the kiddos, into the rain, and off to grocery shopping.

We didn't get home until 1:30am. The Bug slept until noon today. Sigh.

So, today's list of things to accomplish was:
1. Vacuum
2. Clean computer desk
3. Try rice cereal with Lil Man
4. Fold and put away all of the clean laundry
5. Cook a gourmet meal that Vicki will eat

3 out of 5 isn't bad.

Especially when you are interrupted by pillow forts:




Lil Man kept kicking down the pillows.

The vacuuming and computer desk were accomplished, and I proudly went from this







to this






I even tossed the mouse pad into the wash! It's crazy how much dusty-sticky things managed to accumulate on it.

On a side note, Husband and I hare in a n ongoing mini-battle about my rain boots. The subject came up last night after we bought the Bug a new pair (her feet grow faster than laundry). He hates them for reasons unknown (I think it's an unconscious hate for plaid).







I'll admit, they don't "go" with much, but C'MON! PINK PLAID! I might concede and get a black pair....one day.



I, MamaBug., have made a new discovery: The Enemy of Clean. When you least expect it, this lil bugger will pop up out of nowhere to foil any plans you ever had of tidying, vacuuming, washing, or otherwise being productive. He is terrifying. Those horrible eyes! Those monstrous arms! I managed to capture a picture of this beast today while hunting for cleaning wipes.

Caution: The picture you are about to see may be disturbing for some of our younger readers.












The Enemy.


Playing with your children is the enemy of cleaning. All toys, noisy things, and electronics must go in order to accomplish that magazine-perfect clean living space.

Therefore, my house will never be immaculate.

You know what they say, cleanliness is next to....impossible.

I can accept thins. As long as there are pillow forts, senseless and funny arguments over footwear, and plenty of tickle fights, my house could look like a wreck every day and I'd be happy.