A messy house can wait.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that my house will be messy whether I clean it or not. It doesn’t matter if I Swiffer the floors and take a toothbrush to the grout(which I have never done but it seems like something June Cleaver would have done so therefore it must be the right way to keep up a house) my house will always be in some state of disarray. Much like my child’s nap time. Or my hair. At any rate, before me I have a to do list ranging from “organize the front closet” to “simply fold the kitchen towels.” Likely what’s going to happen is neither of these things will be done, nor anything in between but this post sure will be done with dazzling flying colors.

K went back to the doctor today. The meds they gave her Monday where crapola and as such she  now has congestion in her chest, fluid in each ear, puss covered tonsils, and a partridge in a pear tree wicked awful cough. She had a great Benadryl-induced nap yesterday while I slept next to her in  some sort of sleep deprived coma. We were both conked out until nearly 4:30 so the scramble to finish dinner was wildly chaotic. I don’t think we ate until 7 which is late for us. K was upset that there was no honey for the Mexican cornbread but once she realized there was cheese throughout she was good to go. Though her appetite is minimal she’s been getting down on some green tea with honey and lemon. As fast as her metabolism is I’m sure she’s losing weight rapidly. So jealous. Though my stomach vaguely resembles hers in it’s pooched-out-ness, mine’s not nearly as cute. I dare you to try and rub it like I do my daughter’s and marvel at how cute she is when she’s full.

Side note: I think I heard the dryer. Or was it the washer? I have selective hearing today and I’m going to pretend it was neither and that I’m just hearing things because the likelihood of me moving at all to even consider doing yet another load of laundry is about as high as my allowing my child to grow up and be a teenager. She’s going to be little forever y’all.

Since she’s in the throws of some unknown illness we’ll be podcasting church on Sunday (seems to be a running trend here lately) and having some quality family time within the confines of our humble abode. This means I’ll go stir crazy, demand we make something outlandish for dinner tomorrow night, and Chris will tell me that I’ve already baked too much this week so I’m cut off. This usually ends in me melting some marshmallows mixed with honey, a dab of butter, and any type of other fatty, sugary goodness to fend off my sweet tooth. I swear I have a legit sugar addiction. I tell myself it could be worse but, let’s face it, there’s nothing sexy about having love handles and an over worked pancreas because I can’t lay off the crack desserts.

After approximately 33 minutes (give or take) of convincing my ever wonderful child to take a nap I believe we’ve both thrown in the towel and she’ll get to spend the next hour with Hello Kitty while I mumble under my breath about why in the world it’s necessary to run the dishwasher every.single.day and cursing whoever decided that a vacuum with a cord was a smart invention. The cord is the worst part. I’ll take a picture and show you how haphazardly I protest this horrid thing. Chris wraps it neatly back into place which:1. takes too much time 2. doesn’t matter because in a few hours we’re just gonna get it out again because I’m clumsy and spill things out of empty cups and 3. it really just takes too much time.

Anywho, off to the battleground of Camp K’s Room to remind her that it’s important for big girls take naps so mommy’s can  take afternoon breaks to watch Glee and scrub counter tops wearing a smile, apron, make up and heels.

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