This morning I had a meeting with my Sunday School co-teacher to go over lessons for the first couple weeks. We were going to meet at the preschool both our daughters attend after kid drop-off. I started to park my car but she ran up to me and said, "let's just go back to your house so Adrienne isn't bored stiff". This makes good sense and I answer "okay!" in my brightest voice. Inside I am dying because I know the state of my house.
We pull in to my driveway and start working our way through the garage to enter my home. Normally, I toss my full garbage bags into the garage and the Garbage Fairy (Jim- who I'm sure just loves being called the Garbage Fairy) just takes the bags and throws them into our master garbage bin. But Jim's been gone for several days and instead of throwing the trash out myself, I risk breaking an ankle by jumping over bags every time I'm in the garage.
Once we make it into the house we wade through at least 800 pairs of shoes (our household is 75% female! We have a lot of shoes, ok?) and into the kitchen. I don't know how your mornings are, but at our house I strip the girls out of their jammies in the kitchen or living room (I'll pick them up later!), and set them down for eggs (for A- pan is tossed into the sink for cleaning at a later time) and kiwi for M (it sat half-eaten at the counter, fuzzy skin strewn about the inside of the sink). My floor hadn't had it's daily Swiffer (our dog sheds. A lot. And we drop crumbs. A lot.), I still have all eight flies from last Wednesday's post, and one sad bottle of wine on my wine rack (tomorrow it may just be a lonely rack).
Thankfully, my dear friend did not judge me (or masked it well- and really, that's all I can ask for). So, just a heads up if any of you ever want to pop-in Chez Jules. But if I know you're coming I promise to at least hide the shoes in the dishwasher.
Thought this was an appropriate commercial, not to mention supercute.