Please Excuse My Mess

In my house we have a saying, “Our home is not always neat, but it is always happy.”

I have visited people’s homes with tidier garages than my living room. I know people whose windows are transparently streak-free like in a Windex commercial and they would never leave dirty dishes in the sink or use a bookshelf as a catch-all for change, mail, and keys. They can put their hands on anything in a matter of seconds, whether it’s scissors, Scotch tape, a book they want to loan you, or their high school yearbook.

I’m the kind of gal who has to look for her hairbrush and shoes many mornings. I’m learning not to compare myself to the Neat Nellys of this world.

And, with two big dogs – a German Shepard (Tatum) and a black lab (Jack) – and a parade of children walking through the house, we get stains on the carpet. If there is food left unattended anywhere Tatum and Jack can get it (including the garbage), they will eat it. If it disagrees with their stomach, there will be puke. Lots of it. On the carpet. Never conveniently on the tile where it can be mopped up. You will have to get on your knees and do the wet work.

They’re wrestling with a chew toy

There just never seems to be enough hours in the day to stay on top of all the housework. And I’ll be honest, I’m no June Cleaver. I hate household chores and when I do them I wear raggedy clothes and pull my hair in a ponytail. Forget heels and pearls.

My mother totally gets me. That’s why she added these jewels to my refrigerator magnet collection:

If you’re a Neat Nelly who never fears company will stop by unexpected and need to use the restroom, I’m happy for you.  But when you come to my house, please excuse my mess.

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