There is a bowl of cereal on the counter in the kitchen that has soaked up all of the milk that it was floating in when we left the house this morning. It's like one giant blob of blueberry crunchies and engorged flakes.
There are cleats, socks, underwear, hats, lunchboxes, and markers all over the living room floor. I'll likely have to push everything over to one side before I go to bed so that I won't trip and kill myself if I have to get up in the night.
The remnants of a cherry poptart rest on a paper plate on the coffee table. All of the filled parts have been eaten and only the crusty corners remain. The plate is surrounded by half empty juice boxes and the hand drawn logos of virtually every NFL team.
I'm reasonably certain there is a cup of milk coagulating somewhere in our home. A cup of milk that I will find one day when I'm cleaning and then debate whether to leave it on the counter for Trey to wash or throw it in the trash.
My house is a disaster. But I can't seem to make myself care.
Tonight I learned from Tucker that the way you keep from running out of bounds in football is to concentrate. You have to keep one eye on the touchdown and one eye on the line, and you have to concentrate on getting the touchdown without touching the line.
Keaton taught me that the reason we can't see the stars tonight has nothing to do with the clouds. We can't see them because they have all closed their eyes and gone right to sleep.
How could I possibly think about cleaning house when there are all these things I need to learn?
1 comment:
It is nice to know there are other houses our there that look like ours! I try to clean, but playing motorcycles or ponies is much more fun :)
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