Today, while my wife was away, the neighbors all came over to give the downstairs a 'once over'. Mind you I spent most of the morning trying to track and exterminate a *#)($#8$# chipmunk that had somehow gotten into the house. And boy did they (the neighbors) lay in to all the things that had to go.
What stunk was I *KNOW* all this. I can't, however, do it myself. Usually it involves pitching craploads of stuff and junk- we have 3 shelves of cookbooks. What do we eat each week? Same thing. 'Nuff said.
Anyway They simply reiterated what I already knew: that pretty much everything downstairs has to go. That there was never going to be any more time to do anything. I acknowledge that and understand it, intellectually, from watching one of them 'ride herd' on the kids. That I can handle. I think.
And go it shall. I'm not going to lose my baby because a bloody bookrack fell on it... or it choked on some yarn... or it found a needle or coaster or frankly anything.
(Oh yeah, I hate dusting).
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