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Honey, I Sold the Kids!

What do you think would happen if my husband came home and I said”Hi, honey! Guess what I did today?” and he’d be like “Obviously you didn’t clean the house” and I’d respond “NOPE! I SOLD THE KIDS!”
Do you think he’d be mad? Report me to the authorities? Be relieved because it would mean we’d FINALLY be able to keep the house clean?

I’m no Susie Homemaker. I’m not very organized, and my house will never look like the ones you see in Better Homes & Gardens, but I’m not a dirty person. A little clutter is okay, even expected (what? I’m the ‘artistic’ type- being neat and tidy just doesn’t come naturally to me) but I sat in my kitchen today, looked around, and thought to myself- What the FUCK happened? It looks like a bomb went off in this place. An actual fucking bomb. Smoke damage and bits and pieces of who the hell knows what everywhere. Okay, maybe not the smoke damage, but seriously. This is out of control. How did this happen? How did I let this happen? Where did I go wrong?

WARNING: you are about to see the disaster area known as my house.

My living room. A veritable minefield.

My living room. A veritable minefield.

The bookshelf. And my dog. Silently judging me.

The bookshelf. And my dog. Silently judging me.

The coffee table, which has never once supported a cup of coffee. It's so bad the mess spread to the damn couch.

The coffee table, which has never once supported a cup of coffee. It’s so bad the mess spread to the damn couch.

It's like the end table got so full of shit that it barfed books onto the couch. I can't even with this.

It’s like the end table got so full of shit that it barfed books onto the couch. I can’t even with this.

The kitchen table. Yes, we eat here. No, I don't even know how.

The kitchen table. Yes, we eat here. No, I don’t know how.

The kitchen counter. What in the even fuck?

The kitchen counter. What in the even fuck?

 

The choice at this point was either sell the damn kids and burn the house down, or clean.

Don’t worry. You don’t need to call child protective services. Or Hoarders. Or Intervention. Or the Febreze people. DON’T YOU BRING BLINDFOLDED PEOPLE INTO MY HOUSE! After I took these photos, I was so mortified that I spent the next 3 hours cleaning. It was awful.

I’m not writing this, or showing you this because I’m proud, but because this is real. This is life. Shit just happens sometimes.

Posted on August 12, 2015 by Holdin' Holden 6 Comments
Holdin' Holden

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6 Comments

  • No offense, but I’m SOOOOOOOOO THANKFUL to see someone else’s house look like mine. For real, real…and I’m beyond tired of looking at it. It honestly depresses me. But you’re right. Life happens. And until the day it doesn’t, I’ll keep scraping my Mt. Vesuvius of a kitchen island into a box to go through later. Thank you ma’am 🙂

  • It happens. My house is not super clean all the time either. Hell with 3 kids, will it ever be?! My main problem area is laundry. It is never fucking ending! I hate it.

  • I am so glad I am not alone. I love my kids but dang the mess they make. Your bookshelf is like mine only add about a thousand books and a pile of art stuff on the floor in front of it not to mention the stuff piled on top! 🙂

  • one of us… one of us…

  • I might be in love with you. The laundry, both clean and dirty, has taken me hostage… it lets me go to work and shop but when I’m home it mocks me and tells me how awful I am at housework and parenting.