The Pop-In

Today my friend Sandi came over to visit me and see my new place.

When she was on her way over, I looked around in horror, knowing it was entirely too late for me to do anything about what was about to happen.

These thoughts ran through my head:

I could tell her we were robbed, and the house was ransacked.

I could pretend like we just moved on Monday (only dang... she knows that's not true).

I could hide when she knocks.

I could throw on my bathrobe, mess up my hair, put some blush on my nose, and tell her she can't come in because I don't want to get her sick.

Shoot... too late! There she was at the door. Only, it was worse than I thought because she brought her husband with her. Thank goodness I know that these two people happen to be two of the least judgmental people I know.

So there I was, "showing off" my new home in all it's ever-loving-disaster glory.

Please know that I am not exaggerating. It was a disaster. Don't believe me? Okay. You forced me. I'll prove it to you:

That is just a small sampling.  Does that make you feel better about your house? It should.
{If it doesn't, then I'm thinking you should get to cleaning.}

Do you have a friend whose house is always in pristine condition?
You know... that girl whose home looks like it jumped off the pages of a magazine, even when you pop in?

That is not my house. So, if you need a friend whose house makes you feel better about the state of affairs in your house... come on over.

I haven't always been like this. Well, I was... then I wasn't... now I am again.

When I was little my room needed excavators to find the carpet. But then I grew up and got my own home and felt pride in keeping it in that "oh sure, come on over" state. Then I started my own business. Then I moved. For the last month my house has looked like a bomb went off, and I can't seem to get a grip on it.

Yet even in the midst of insanity, I find that I am still anal about funny things. Every morning I leave my curling iron and flat iron on my bathroom counter cooling. And every night {even though there is laundry all over my bedroom, three trash bags full of clothes that I haven't decided yet where to put, and trash spilling out of the can} I make sure to wrap up the cords and put my irons away while I sleep. Even though I will just bring them out first thing in the morning, and even though there is no one coming into my bathroom while I sleep to see them... even though... I am compelled to put them away.  Nevermind the fact that I have to leap across piles of crap to get to my bed... but my irons are in their rightful place!

Hopefully someday soon I will have order in my home once again, and not have to feel terror at the prospect of someone wanting to come upstairs.

Hopefully.