My house is a mess. I mean, most parts are livable. No one is going to accuse me of being a hoarder or being a complete slob. However, no one is going to give me housekeeper of the year, either. My room is a mess. I have piles and piles of clothes on my rocking chair and in a laundry basket. It would take about ten minutes total to put things away, but yet, these clothes have been out for months. I have done loads of laundry for DS and DH, but I have needed to do my own for at least three weeks. I would’ve run out of underwear already (usually the limiting reagent for needing to do laundry), except that I broke down and started wearing my fat lady/pregnant underwear because my ass has expanded faster than I recall it doing before.

My front living room is a disgrace. It basically houses about six months of old mail and all the stuff from my office. My hall closet, though contained, is a mound of insanity. My kitchen table is a pile of crap. (Which likely helps me not cooking.) My laundry room is clear, but my laundry machines are buried under a variety of crap that if I could just bother to take the time to actually put away, it wouldn’t be a problem. Let’s not even discuss my office. *sigh*

I need a wife! (I’m a terrible homemaker. I freely admit this.) The only rooms that are neat are the family room (where DS spends the majority of his time) and DS’s room.

At least my friend promised to help me de-clutter in June. June better get here quick!!!

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