Dichotomy -OR- Why Steam Is Coming Out Of My Ears

Well. If you want puppies and kittens and sunflowers and rainbows, you have come to the wrong blog, my friend. At the risk of shattering any illusions you might still be grasping that I am, indeed, "Julie O So Perfect" - and those illusions have been in tact to this point, yes? - I will let you in on a little secret:

My name is Julie. I live in squalor.

Now, despite the disproportionate size of our home compared to the vast majority of our friends, I clearly do not mean third world squalor. And I mean "third world squalor" with the utmost sympathy and compassion. Truly.

[Side note: Where the heck do these people MY AGE get all their money for their gigantic homes? For reals! Don't get me wrong. I realize that Alan and I are incredibly blessed beyond measure, and we certainly lack for nothing (well, now I am still without an "Instyler." Have you seen that infomercial?? I n.e.e.d one...), and it's been way clear how God has provided for us and reminded us of his provision over the course of the past few years. And I really, really don't want a bigger home. An Instyler, yes. Bigger home, no. I'm just saying.]

Anyway - back to today's saga: Why We Might Be On the List For A Visit From D.S.S.

Wow. This house has never been as filthy and cluttery and messy as it has been over the course of the past two weeks (see this post - life has just felt a bit frantic lately). The kitchen gets cleaned up every day or two (wish I could say I'm exaggerating about that, but I'm so not. sigh.), but every other room has been left to our untidy habits. Thankfully, there have been no ER visits for punctured feet (think millions of little lego pieces covering the living room) or bludgeoned heads (think precarious stacks of items waiting to be "filed" or "put away") or severely bruised shins (think crashing into the ironing board in the middle of the night when you just needed to get up and tinkle and the iron, in turn, comes crashing down on you). It doesn't help that any clean up that I do is quickly disheveled again by the three males with which I live (and if you didn't know that I meant my hubbers and kiddos, doesn't that make me sound like a little vixen??). Thankfully, my hubbers is a good kisser and my kiddos tell me charming thoughts like my hair is "weird but lovely." Makes spending two hours - for REALS - cleaning up the millions of flecks of stomped-on, disintegrated packing peanuts that have infilitrated our house thanks to an awfully fun playdate almost exciting. Almost.

So, why am I sharing this with you, Internet? Who the heck knows. Maybe I'm just brain-dead after spending - kidding you not - six hours cleaning up most of the house today. And, yes, I know it's Sunday and the Lord's day and all that, but I sure would have been a whole lot less holy sitting in church tonight stewing about everything on my "to do" list for the week, knowing I was going back home to Squalorville after the service was over.

So. On my "thank you, God" list this week?? That He has NOT seen it within His will to give us a McMansion. Because clearly I have more than enough on my plate keeping up with the home I've got.