The Art of Homemaking

Someone once said, the art of homemaking is the removal of all evidence that anyone lives in your house. As I type, there is evidence all over my house.

The dishes are piled up and over-flowing onto the counter tops. There is some sort of sticky, mystery-goo on the floor, in front of the refrigerator. The trash is over-flowing. Maybe I'm trying to set a new record to see how high I can pile up the trash before my husband notices and takes it upon himself to take care of it? Maybe it will topple onto the floor before that happens? We'll just have to wait and see how this little experiment plays out. (honey, if you're reading this, I love you!)

The laundry room floor is covered in heaps of color-coordinated clothes. I joke about building up what I like to call my little "Mt. Wash-more". I think I must have read that somewhere. On a good note, the kids did clean up their playroom before bed. That being said, I'm sure there is still a pink-haired pony in the bath tub, a family of dinosaurs hiding under the dinning room table, and a half-consumed bottle of breast milk marinating underneath the Pack 'N Play. Hum, that will smell good in the morning.

Right now my left eye is still throbbing from where Eliana carelessly popped me in the eye with a set of Christmas reindeer antlers. I told her to not be so careless, and then quickly realized I was talking to a 2 1/2 year old. Reminds me of when my husband told Ethan that he "needed to be more responsible", and I laughed saying,"Honey, you do realize you are talking to a 3 year old, right?" Hey, high expectations are a good thing, right?

Well, my little Picasso's tool of choice today was not a paint brush, thank goodness. No, instead she colored herself with orange and blue markers, before biting the tips off of them. And they aren't even the scented kind. Well, what do you expect from a girl who enjoys drinking her own bath water?

I could vacuum our entire house one hundred times, and Emily will still find SOMETHING she's not suppose to put into her mouth. A tiny piece of fuzz, a fruit snack wrapper, a piece of dog food - yes, I admit it, all 3 of my children know what dog food tastes like. YUCK. So, where does Emily find these things? It must be a crawling baby thing.

A funny moment with Ethan today, made me laugh out loud. He has been into drawing pictures of Indian's, complete with tiny bows and arrows and little hatchets. Oh, and I can't forget the intricately decorated tepee, complete with a tiny yellow and orange flamed fire.

He wrote his name a the top of the paper and then thoughtfully asked, "Hey, Mama, do the letters 'N' and 'D' and 'N' spell Indian?"

Right now, there is a picture of an Indian hanging on my refrigerator with the title "NDN" a.k.a "Indian". How cute is that?

Anyone who thinks the life of a stay-at-home mom is anything less than one adventure after another, should come visit my house for a day.