Housekeeping = Fail

If you haven't heard from me in several days, send help.  You'll find me buried beneath layers of crayons, colored pencils, clothing for the consignment sale, barbie shoes, and books, and raisins.  How did we ever manage to acquire so many books?

I'm selling some of the girls' clothes at a consignment sale in several weeks.  Going through bin after bin of infant clothes has been such a lovely trip through the infancy of my girls.  There are so many pieces I'm having trouble parting with:  the camel-colored corduroy pants that Sunshine looked so cute in, the little red outfit that set off Ladybug's hair.  There are certain pieces I won't part with, like the things they came home from the hospital in.  Still, it feels good to clean house a little.  Of course, at the moment, everything is strewn throughout not only my living room but my dining room as well.  

But that's OK, because the mess in the living room and dining room can't even compare to the chaos that has enveloped my playroom.   A curse should be put upon all those toy manufacturers that make toys with dozens of tiny parts.  I almost lost it with Sunshine the other day.  She'd been coloring with markers, crayons, and colored pencils.  Most of them found their way to the floor.  I'd asked her several different times to pick them up before I finally threatened to throw them all away.  She didn't believe me.  So we have a few less coloring implements now.  Can't say I'm really sorry.  I just wish that the next time she takes me a little more seriously.  

I'm not one of those women who really loves to clean.  Sure, I like to see my house spotless and shining.  But realistically, it stays that way for all of five minutes.  And that's if one of my children is sleeping.  Alas, my dirty floor is calling.  Can't remember the last time I washed it.  That's not good, is it?  Housekeeper = Fail.