A LittleWarning

To my wonderful, very helpful dh,

I work very hard to keep our home fairly orderly at most times. I try to keep our little ones on a regular schedule of getting up and dressed, and then getting myself dressed for the day. On occasion, however, there are mornings (especially after the long, busy weekends we have had lately), where I feel there is some sort of conspiracy against me. Little ones provide me with too many dirty diapers and messes to keep up with the chaos around me. Some mornings I just can't seem to get everyone moving towards my goal of being dressed and ready to move onto the day's activities.

I try to tidy up, but with each little toy I pick up, the other toys seem to multiply as I walk room to room. I also try to wrangle little arms and feet into proper clothing. But some mornings, as soon as the arms get into the clothing the feet wiggle out of them. I furthermore attempt to keep up with my own daily hygiene, but there are some mornings where that seems to get lost in the shuffle.

As a result, there just might be a morning where our house looks like a toy store exploded. A morning where the weekend's unfolded laundry has overtaken our living room. A morning where half our children are dressed, some might still be toddling around in diapers (remember there is one of me and three in diapers). Other children might be dressed, but outfitted in crazy get-ups not seen outside of the circus or mid-1980's. I also might be semi-dressed, wearing old lady curlers in my hair, trying to herd the mess and our children, even if it is almost noon.

Since mornings like this are bound to happen (mind you, only occasionally), it would be very, very helpful to be warned that a repairman might knock on my door. I might mistake said repairman for a package delivery man and allow our oldest daughter to open the door to accept the package. It may be difficult for me from my hidden vantage point in the kitchen (crouching in a corner) to grasp that the man at the door is a repairman. I might now mistake him for a salesman, then yell from the kitchen and have our daughter tell him he'll have to come back at a better time.

This little warning does not guarantee that the house will be any more tidy, or that little ones will be clean-faced and dressed. It also does not insure that I will be able to talk our four-year old daughter out of wearing mismatched crazy clothing. The laundry might still remain unfolded, but at least hidden. I am quite certain despite whatever measures I take, any person who ventures to ring our doorbell will be greeted by six anxious little people. Hopefully, though, I will have removed the curlers from my hair and put on decent clothing, and for that we can all be thankful!

All my love,
Nikki