“A clean house is a boring house.” -Ashton. Can we make that a real saying?

Yesterday, as I reclined during my spa morning, I had a lot on my mind.

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(Dental work’s price tag makes it as close to an actual spa as I’m getting, but if I’m forced to lie here with my eyes closed, I am thrilled and will continue to refer to it as a spa.)

I thought of my sweet babies at home, which inevitably led to me thinking how much cleaning I need to do, the ever growing pile of laundry, and the missing Desitin tube. That missing Desitin concerns me. It also made circle back to cleaning the house.

My feelings these messy days are always sandwiched. I do like food analogies.

Those little bits of frustration are sandwiched between feelings of overwhelming adoration and motherly wonder. Like a real life filter, the pure innocence of the little perpetrators always blurs the irritation of the crime out of focus.

Let me give you a tour of my emotions (the sandwiches, which I am envisioning as PB& homemade raspberry jelly).

Sweet little Roscoe just climbing all over me as he tried to share his drink. Why would I even own white pants? Will this stain? I love that he just wants his mommy.
Sweet little Roscoe just climbing all over me as he tried to share his drink. Why would I even own white pants? Will this stain? I love that he just wants his mommy.

Oh man, my sliding glass door. Look at these hands! Oh, the fingers are so teeny! I literally just wiped these down yesterday. How freaking much Windex are we going through? Buuut before they wiped their Popsicles on the window, they were so sweet eating them together.
Oh man, my sliding glass door. Look at these hands! Oh, the fingers are so teeny! I literally just wiped these down yesterday. How freaking much Windex are we going through? Buuut before they wiped their Popsicles on the window, they were so sweet eating them together.

Ohhh, a golf club in the freezer. I always have surprises! Were they into the ice cream? What were they doing in here? Is my bathroom cabinet a mess now, too? Let me take a picture really quickly to send to Brian. He will love it. I’ll have to stick this in Chatbooks.
Ohhh, a golf club in the freezer. I always have surprises! Were they into the ice cream? What were they doing in here? Is my bathroom cabinet a mess now, too? Let me take a picture really quickly to send to Brian. He will love it. I’ll have to stick this in Chatbooks.

These teeny hands. I hate stainless steel so much. I love these fingers so much.
These teeny hands. I hate stainless steel so much. I love these fingers so much.

Emotional sandwiches. Or, bipolar. Hard to differentiate.

These small annoyances have become the crowning jewels of my home.

My house verges on disastrous sometimes, but I know having clean pants and floors one day will prick my heart.

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The Most Groupon-y of Summers

I knew this was going to be an exciting week the moment I noticed a puppy swimming in our community kids’ pool.

Questionably sanitary, but...chlorine. Right?
Questionably sanitary, but…chlorine. Right?

I KNEW there was a little extra electricity in there air, and my suspicions of something out of the ordinary were confirmed when I looked at my phone and realized—I have Groupons expiring. A lot of Groupons.

I also have a cute neighbor trying to earn extra money.

It was like being rebaptized in the font of fun. A born again rebel, really bucking that “stay at home during naptime” system.

We went to Giada’s for brunch. I can’t remember the last time Brian and I even dined on a bowl of cereal together at home, so going to a nice morning meal together seemed a little…startling? Unproductive? Showy? Tantalizing? Awesome?

Straight Outta Snapchat
Straight Outta Snapchat

I went to get my nails done, but it looked like being in business was no longer their thing. (Refund pending.)

We ate shaved ice cream.

What's next? Mardi Gras?
What’s next? Mardi Gras?

We just kept going. We just kept being fun.

UnGroupon realted, we laid out at a hotel pool for couple of hours, because that babysitter was looking for work, and I’m so selfless.

Can't stop, won't stop. Possibly the first time I've laid by a pool alone since 2012.
Can’t stop, won’t stop. Possibly the first time I’ve laid by a pool alone since 2012.

Now I just have to take 5 spin classes over the next three days, and eat Indian food 30 minutes away…and then maybe delete the Groupon app from my phone.

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My Thesis for a Future Dissertation on Fast Food, or My Babies’ Thesis for a Case Study on Mom

Have you ever stopped to listen how people order food?

I’ve noticed that men are generally more the statement making, demanding type, and to the point. “Gimme uhhh…Let me get the #1.” “Double double, no onions.“ They look the cashier in the eye while they speak, unlike most women, whose eyes are darting all over the menu even as they order. (I think I’m one of them. Can’t commit.)

Women seem inclined to let their demure nature shine through during the moment of ordering truth. “I would like a cheeseburger. Oh, and fries. Do the fries have sizes? Oh, a small. No, a large. Hehe. Thanks!” “Can I please have a #2? With grilled onions?”

That’s the worst one. The questioner. The vocal inflection is a higher pitch at the end of every sentence, making the last words dangle so every statement sounds like there is a question mark at the end. “I’d like a #2? Animal style? And a lemonade?”

That’s what I do. I’m pretty annoying.

I continued burger order auditing while I was sitting on a bench at In n Out, waiting for Brian and the little guys to meet me for dinner. I eavesdropped on people’s orders while I watched this guy mop.

Unbeknown to me, this was my child’s throw up.

My current standings of 1 year olds throwing up while ordering: 2 for 2.
My current standings of 1 year olds throwing up while ordering: 2 for 2.

Part of me felt bad, and part of me was guiltily relieved I had been spared clean up duty.

My guys were in the bathroom cleaning up the entire time I was situated on the bench, and although Roscoe was smiling and perfectly thrilled to be there in his sopping clothes, Brian took him home while I stayed with Gus to eat his “cheeburber.” Within 5 minutes, Gus knocked over our lemonade, so I had to go do my question ordering again to alert that blessed cleaning guy. “Hi? My son spilled lemonade? Oops, sorry?”
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Let’s give a slow clap for these guys, In n Out’s sacrificial lambs of the night.

We're taking our In n Out burbers to go for a couple of weeks.
We’re taking our In n Out burbers to go for a couple of weeks.
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