Sundays are my favorite days. They seem more relaxed than the others, more family oriented. The kids and I stay in our pj’s as long as we want, I let them watch cartoons as long as they want (well, not really, but more than I usually would), we cuddle and laugh and play board/card games. We’re like a Norman Rockwell image, with the (sometimes too) occasional sibling argument, a messy house and single parenting.
But when my babies aren’t here, it is my day to make up for the week of messes I didn’t clean up. My day of rest becomes my day of restitution. My day to find sanity in the chaos of a tiny house with two children who, God love them, cannot figure out how to put their toys in their room. I actually believe at this point that they forget where their rooms are and in their confusion, decide the living room floor is the best place for whatever they are playing with.
I find cars in my purse, Nerf bullets in the fridge (we have Nerf gun battles all the time, but how on earth do the bullets get in the fridge?!), Pokemon cards are everywhere… I mean, E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E., books hidden between the cushions of the couch, swords hidden under the couch, tennis balls multiply around here… the list goes on.
So for a minute, the house will be clean, fairly organized and presentable. The little rugrats get home tomorrow though, so it will have that special lived-in look that only children can bring to a house by Wednesday. C’est la vie.
Outrageously Ordinary 