...would it be reasonably clean? I don't mean pristine, but clean enough that a little piece of you wouldn't shrivel up and die in embarrassment? I feel like I'm living what Fly Lady calls CHAOS: Can't Have People Over Syndrome. I keep thinking, "Well, I have a baby," but she's seven months now and that excuse may be wearing out.
It doesn't help that I know a lady with six children (pregnant with her seventh) who Has It Together. I showed up at her house unannounced the other day to drop something off, secretly sure that I would find her house a disaster (for once), but no. There were toys strewn about, but it was cleaner than my own home when I've frantically shoved everything under the bed in anticipation of company.
I'm finally coming out of lurkdom.
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