My kids are at Camp this week. My house is QUIET. It's nice. Don't get me wrong - I love my daughters, they are good girls and we have a lot of fun together, but a week away...absence makes the heart grow fonder - that's all I'm saying.
I have the TV on or I listen to my iPod while I clean so it's not totally quiet, but mostly I have noticed that my house is REALLY CLEAN. I mean showroom clean. I cleaned this weekend, AND MY HOUSE STILL LOOKS GOOD. I could sell it tomorrow. Of course I don't include their bedrooms in this description. If furniture could have a flu virus, I would understand the way Sarah's room looks. To my untrained eye it appears that her dresser, desk, and bed have vomited their contents onto her floor. The closet is tidy. There is one lonely skirt on a hanger and a single furry pink slipper on the floor. Ceilidh's room is better - it appears her room just has a hangover, but Sarah...sweet baby james, that ain't right.
At least it's limited to their rooms now. When my girls were little, based on the smell and level of trash in my car, I'm pretty sure there was a homeless guy living in the back seat. I never actually saw him, but the evidence was there. I mean my kids swore they didn't leave the PBJ stuck to the back of the seat, or step on the not-quite-empty juice box and spray it all over the roof of the car. They didn't dump the fries on the floor to leave them sticking up like bamboo spears at the bottom of a Viet Cong pit. They had no idea whose shoe, sock, giraffe, lego, Mr. Potato Head eye or Barbie leg was jammed between the seats. Now that they're teens, I think I've got a hooker. Clothes, lip gloss, occasionally there's money... again - haven't seen her, but what else could it be?
Anyway, I think I'm going to go revel in my tidy nest. The circus comes back into town on Friday.
