...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.