There's Spaghetti On My Walls

I thought I was doing okay as the master of my homestead. With three children ages 1, 2, and 4, there is a lot to keep me busy. Yes, my sinuses are warring against me making it impossible to bend over and pick things off the ground. But between my robot vacuum, three short minions to (somewhat) do my bidding and the kicking method of cleaning--you know, where you kick it all to the middle of the rom, si do seta noffe taornalau aket, oceedto c i upfro hed t iy so yout

see what happens when i type too fast? The program can't keep up with me. Drives me batty.

back to the kicking method--you kick it all to a central location, then sit down and put it all in a higher location like on a table or bed or into a basket that you can carry around. I perfected this art during my second pregnancy, when by back hurt so badly and the little girl had so much garbage lying around that I had to pick up but all the chiropractic visits in the world (or at least all the ones covered by my HMO) still did not afford me the ability to bend.


Think I'm rambling now--this is Daytime cold medicine. Wait til I'm on the nighttime stuff!



Okay. Cleaning.

Nevermind. Just know that I thought I was doing really well keeping up with three kids and a household despite my throbbing sinuses. Then I saw the spaghetti on my walls. And I don't even remember the last time I made spaghetti.