Every day this week I have meant to post. (Not to be confused with every day last week, when I wanted to post.) Something has come up. For example, last night I was helping train an aspiring back up singer. The night before I was wrestling my daughter to sleep. And so on.
This afternoon I was feeling serious about it. Because it was that, or face my home. My home that is one mess after another. Some of the messes are today's messes, the one's the girls make every day. Some of the messes are mine, trying to sort through things in order to get rid of anything I don't care about. And some of the clutter comes from fitting too much stuff into too little space (see previous mess description). Kiddo was in the bathroom, making noises I wasn't terribly comfortable with. Babs was whining unless I was holding her, and then sometimes still whining. I figured I'd document it, then try to at least clean off the floor before my husband got home.
The previous post is what happened instead. As I tried to write a title, Babs managed to hit the keyboard (as she had been desperately trying to for the last five minutes) and posted. I gave up. I give up. Maybe I'll write tomorrow.
