no small miracle

I've often wondered why it is no one can visit my house when it's clean.  My house is frequently, even mostly, clean.  But whenever someone stops by unexpectedly, it's a disaster.  There is always a pile of dirty diapers to greet them at the front door, toys and cereal strewn on the carpet, and something has inevitably just died in the garbage can.  If they venture past the front door, and then past the living room, they'll find lunch still on the table, last nights dinner remnants still under and around the highchair, and a sink full of dirty dishes.  Oh, and did I mention the smell radiating from the garbage can?  But the funniest thing is, if they just would have come the day before, or even a few hours before, the house would have been clean.  No dishes, toys put away, floor swept, no gross garbage smell.  What gives?  Am I the only one?  Does Murphy just hate me?

But last night a miracle occurred.  M and I were sitting down eating dinner (the dad was still at school, lame) when I heard some talking just past our back fence.  And then I heard a chain saw.  So I looked out and saw that our amazing (not even being sarcastic, he really is amazing) landlord and his wife had come to trim the trees in our backyard.  After dinner we went out to say hi and he mentioned that the water needed to be turned off.  If it wasn't a bad time for him, I told him it was fine for him to do it then.  After the tree trimmer (or butchering, really, but that's another story) he came in to the house just as we were leaving.  Toys put away, floor vacuumed earlier that day, the only smell to greet him was from dinner.  No dishes in the sink, no ancient meals under the high chair.  And it wasn't even sprint cleaning because I knew he was there.  He just came when the house was clean.  You may be laughing, but really, that's no small miracle.

Monday isn't a four letter word

I know it's not really politically correct to admit that I love Mondays.  I'm supposed to whine and complain that the weekend is over and I'm dreading the next five days.  But here's the deal: I do love Monday.  Especially Monday morning.  On Monday morning I'm an optimist.  Nothing has ruined my week yet.  I'm still thinking about uplifting church talks.  I'm refreshed from the weekend and ready to dive back into my routine.  My to do list seems more doable.  On Monday I'm certain I can be kinder, read my scriptures more, keep my house clean all week, make dinner every night, save money; on Mondays, I can do anything.  Maybe you can just do me a favor and keep it a secret that Monday happens to be my favorite day of the week.  Or maybe you can come out and just admit it: you love Mondays too.

From the Kitchen Sink: it could be happening

I think my brains may be leaking out of my head.  I no longer think about water vs. wasteland usage when I do the dishes.  I don't think about how much time I spend in the kitchen.  I don't think deeply about the gospel or wonder what backyard I'll look at when we leave Logan.  Nope, I sing the Baby Signing Time songs.  Over and over and over.  And we don't even watch it that much.  And we've only even seen one DVD because I'll only get them from the library.  Make it stop.  Please, make it stop.  But don't be too alarmed.  I have been thinking about other things in other places.  I just haven't had (made) much time to write lately.  Maybe next week.