I haven't figured out what those benefits are quite yet, but I'm keeping my eyes open.
In an effort to remain "organized" I try to keep the house picked up. Is it CLEAN? No. If it were clean it wouldn't reek faintly of urine, Old MacDonald's boots and the bacon that was fried last weekend. But I try to keep the crap cleared off the floors, furniture and counter-tops.
This should be a simple task.
Let me let you in on a little something called REALITY. This simple 'keeping the house picked up' can consume every minute of your day. Mainly because YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO GIVES A SHIT. Which leaves a person feeling like they are all conspiring against me. I have six culprits, which I will list in order from the least to the most offensive.
Red Dog LOVES to chase the horses in their muddy pen, then rest her fluffy red body on my outdoor couch, where she then cleans her muddy paws. She thinks the indoor living room furniture is her personal dog bed. I'm so glad she likes my leather couch and $50 throw pillows. She also likes to sneak her slobber and manure encrusted ball into the house, just in case anyone is up for a quick game of fetch. Then we have the shedding.
Smelly Cat is vile. He stinks of roadkill and drools blood everywhere. He also perches on the counters, the back on the couch and always my lap, if I am seated- naturally with his claws OUT and ready for action. He left his trademark claw prints in the arms of my white chairs and the thighs of my white legs. For some reason, his tail always houses a variety of outdoor particles, most of which are sticky and unidentifiable. Then we have the shedding.
Black Dog always seeks out the one bed in the house with the freshly washed comforter. That is where she naps. Something about that Downy smell must make her want to poo... just a little... on that comforter. She also has severe gas, probably because she sees to it to personally clean 'the litter box' (i.e. the sandbox) whenever we are outside. Then we have the shedding.
The Things, while adorable and funny, are capable of destroying both the interior of the house and the backyard in as little as 10 minutes. Toys. Clothes. Shoes. Art Supplies. Ropes and sticks and the chain they keep dragging out of the barn. Daddy's tools and a variety of crap that they shouldn't touch. Then they break their toys because they think everything can be taken apart and put back together. Then they beg me to glue it back together. They steal my tape and my scissors and I am left to clean up 3467 tiny pieces of paper. Everything they do is a boobie trap. And they make a crap ton of noise while doing it. I can't ... just... make it stop.
|I dare you to walk through their room.|
|This is the fabric of my life. |
It is soaking wet and smells of B.O., campfire smoke and mold.
Maybe in my next life I'll come back as a childless lesbian with a pet allergy!
Or maybe I just need a week away from my house and the six beating hearts who share it with me.