Mess be gone

The messy-house thing bit me in the butt this weekend, big time.

Yesterday I woke up feeling really, really awful.  Super terrifically omg-let-me-curl-up-in-a-ball-and-pass-out awful.  Which, as you can imagine, isn't possible when you have a five-year-old poking you in the forehead, "Mama?  I'm hungry!"

I got her some breakfast and contemplated my options.  I have a wealth of resources available to me...women who would, in a heartbeat, drop whatever they're doing and come to my aid.  I ran down the list in my head, which in and of itself is comforting.  And then reality struck.

I can't let anybody in here.  My house is beyond disaster-status and I would be mortified.

From the cluttered kitchen counter to the cat-barf stains on the carpet (Tachi has been on a spree) to the fur-covered couches and tumble-furs (as M calls them) that loll gently across the hardwood floor whenever there's a slight breeze.  Zoe-toys everywhere, a dining room table with crumbs, a stinky trash can (good night...what did we put in there?).

So I cleaned.  I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned.  I vacuumed and dusted and mopped and put everything away and de-furred the couches and Spot-Shotted the carpet.  I made my own glass cleaner (!) and hosed off the dining room table.  The fridge got cleaned out, the Christmas tree taken down, ornaments stowed for another year.

By the end of the day, I still felt awful and then exhausted on top of it, but relieved.  My house is finally, blessedly, clean.  And it smells good, too.