I am a Domestic Goddess

... or at least I used to be. Don't get me wrong, my level of "disaster" is probably a lot cleaner than mosts; but the level of "disaster" that I currently allow it to get to is much lower than it used to be. Look around my house now and I don't know what has changed... Oh wait. I remember...

It's the 21 pound dirt farmer that crawls around after me destroying my house. I pick up cheerios off the floor, she comes behind me, takes them out of the bowl and squishes them into thousands of little cheerio pieces with her pudgy little hands. I wipe off the finger prints, she stares at the mess the cheerio massacre left on her fingers and thinks, 'hmmm... that looks like a nice clean place to wipe my hands.' I wipe milk up, throw the paper towel away and walk back in the living room to find her waving her bottle around, quenching the thirst of my hardwood floors. Four times a day I clean up a mess I *swore* I would never allow in my living room; her baby toys. When she is distracted enough to let me pick them up, they live on a shelf in the corner. Cubbies hiding all the little pieces. For the other part of the day, they are exploded all over "her half" of the living room, another thing I *swore* I would never do. . The bomb that is my child, removes every last thing she can from the shelf. Leaving them splayed across the floor like shrapnel.

The funny thing is I actually like it. I LOVE watching her talk and sing and dance to the music some of her toys play. It actually brings tears to my eyes to see her "reading" her books. And when she picks up Lenny the lamb, first thing in the morning and last thing before bed, I know that for all the damage she's done to my domestic goddess status, she's worth it. I really don't miss it that much.

... I just hope my husband doesn't miss it that much either ;o)


Bug and Lenny the Lamb


Bug and her Mess