Trashed

Shannon was sitting in the tub this morning as it filled, and when his brothers were climbing in, he yelled, "Look at that! Somebody cleaned the tub! There's no more dirt on the side, or on that wall!" He was pretty darned excited.

Needless to say, my full day of cleaning yesterday was sorely needed. I managed to knock out all but the basement, and the house looked really nice when I left for volleyball last night. Then I returned home...

The boys had knocked over my (freshly watered) plant all over the living room carpet, Club Crackers were trailed about throughout the kitchen and said living room, the bathroom sink was covered in dirt and water droplets, and Ken had tracked the landscaping dirt into the house (and left his muddy shoes in my kitchen.)

Really. Why do I clean?

After I returned from volleyball and pitched a royal fit, Ken then informs me that his brother is coming into town to visit, after all, and did I get the basement cleaned up? Those of you who know me could probably guess where the conversation went from there...

Of course I told Ken he'd better get to work cleaning the downstairs (bathroom, bedroom, playroom,) so his brother didn't think we were slobs, because I refused to do anymore work that was just going to get trashed when I turned around. Of course, Ken just looked at me and went back to whatever he was doing.

Well, today is the day brother-in-law shows up, and I'm getting ready to head downstairs and clean it all up. I should have time now that I've got the plant mess vacuumed up, the kitchen back into shape, and Ken's work shoes buried in the garage. I don't know exactly where those shoes landed after I threw them with all the strength I had in me, but I bet Ken will find them someday.