Cleaning frenzy

Have you ever accidentally moved a piece of furniture a few inches then wished that you hadn’t because you suddenly discovered where all the dust from the past three centuries has disappeared to? I mean, we’ve lived here less than six months—how can we have accumulated so much gook already? It just doesn’t seem scientifically possible.

It all started when Adam and I temporarily forgot we had a two-year-old and bought an entertainment center that basically advertises itself in bright Crayola markers to all passing toddlers. It’s low to the ground and it has no doors or covers to hide the electronics. So Violet’s all, “Oh buttons! Have to push, need to push, buttons, buttons, buttons!” And we’re all, “Push those one more time and we’ll … well, there’s not a lot we can do because we were the idiots that bought it in the first place.”

So our lovely, comfortable ottoman that works so nicely with our once-comfortable couch is now positioned cleverly in front of the entertainment center so grubby little fingers can’t reach it. The only problem is that the vacuum can’t reach it either, and today in a moment of sheer pregnancy-cleaning-nesting-craziness, I moved the ottoman. Bleck. Oh, there’s that mound of cat hair that we misplaced about five hundred years ago. Along with every single Cheerio that has ever been dropped in a five block radius of our house. There seriously must be a black hole under there that only sucks in fuzzy, gross blobs. Next time, sign me up for the money-sucking black hole—even if it is covered with fuzzy, gross blobs, money is always better than Cheerios.


P.S. Oh, hi blog. There you are. Brb. Promise.