Dear Dirt. I quit.

Dear Dirt,

I mean it this time.

I quit.  I really do.

It’s not enough that I vacuumed and cleaned the 1 million and 1 game pieces on the floor—that’s after feeding my kid a great lunch while I ate bread with butter.

It’s not enough that I loaded the dish washer and started it.

And got the baby down for a nap.

It’s not enough that I emptied the trash and the recycles and swept the mud room.

It’s not enough that I shoveled the coal and made sure our home stays warm.


You devilish fiend keep coming back to hunt me down and destroy me!

I cleaned the room for the naught—because there are still crumbs in the carpet that I JUST can’t vacuum up.

I loaded the dishwasher, WHY?

Because now my floor has water all over it—WHEN did we even get a leak in the water hose?

I emptied the trash…REALLY?  Silly me!

Because those dogs—those dogs found their way through the trash gate and proceeded to strew ALL of it over the front lawn.  ALL.

Did I mention ALL???

Yes, Dirt.

I give up.

Now, my two toddlers are taking every toy imaginable out to play while I am cowering in the corner typing this LOVE LETTER to you.

Which, you can probably tell by now, is NOT a love letter to you.

So, Dirt.

You win.

I lose.

And now please come collect the children, the dirty dishes, the dogs, and the laundry…

These are the spoils of your victory.

I will still be cowering…hiding…in the corner until you come.

Honking will suffice—I’ll throw all culprits out the door and lock it, so there will be nowhere else to go but straight to you.



(You KNOW who I am)

Living One Minute at a Time…


Okay.  I lied.  Sometimes it’s Living One Second at a Time.

You see…we walked to the doctor’s office today.  It’s across the street, about 1/2 a mile away.  It was our little chub-a-love, Josephine’s, 1-month appointment. 

Trumpet sounds for making a month.  Woot-woot.

And on the way back, we said, “Why don’t we stop at the park for 30 minutes.  Maxwell (our 1-year-old) would love that.”

And we said, “And, he’s already pooped two times today, so, despite the fact that we FORGOT his diaper bag, we should be okay.”

We arrived at the park.

Grunt, groan, grunt.  Red face.  And voile!

He was NOT okay.

We were NOT okay.

The smell was NOT okay.

But we stayed at the park for 30 minutes anyway.

Then we make it home.

Perfect.  Josephine will sleep.  Max will eat and sleep.  Adelyne (our 8-year-old) still has a few hours left of school.

Change one diaper.  Leave one infant sleeping in her car seat, and make one hot dog for the freshly changed 1-year-old.


Goodbye to the husband who is off to work.

Good sleeps to the son who is off to nap.

Good job to the 1-month-old still snoring in her car seat.

Good seats to the Momma who is now typing this blog.  2 free hours just for M.E.  Me!

And then it happens…

The doorbell rings.

It’s the scorpion-spraying bug guy.


And then the baby starts fussing.

The toddler starts howling.

The 8-year-old arrives home.


THREE poopy diapers, a double-sided nursing, and an afternoon snack later—I am all down with that.

Now I have 1 sleeping infant.

One 8-year-old playing on her Nook.

One 1-year-old holding his ba-ba (blankie), Elmo (stuffed doll), and watching Elmo’s world on his elephant seat.

How long with this last?

Well, let’s just say that I’ll take One Minute at a Time 😉

How about you? 

Happy week to all.  Like I heard on the radio the other day—Only the first 5 days after the weekend are the hard ones!

Ciao for now.

xo b