So we keep cleaning.
Jay trimmed trees today and mowed the lawn, fixed the screen door and the broken handle...
Now he's making spaghetti.
I tackled that room below the family room. Oh, that room. Kirsten used to live down there when she was in college, but now it's just another big room where Lincoln logs, Fisher Price villages, Hot Wheel tracks, and other easily ignored messes end up.
It's nice they can spread out their stuff and leave it, and adults don't have to look at the mess, but it had to get dealt with.
Moo Jrs. helped. I only ate two, so that was pretty good.
But while I was cleaning, for some reason, I thought of this: Back when Heidi was a little baby and John and Dan were five and four, someone called to say they were stopping by in half an hour. I got off the phone and looked around at the wreckage.
All we had planned for the day was nursing the baby and goofing off, and it looked like it. I put Heidi in her crib and ran to get dressed, yelling for the boys to start picking up their toys.
This is the good part--John turned to Dan, urging him, "We have to get this place cleaned up so they won't know we're pigs!"
dan, heidi, john--february, 1985
It felt like that down in the room today, throwing away popsicle sticks, picking up toys, and making the beds, running the vacuum, so they won't know we're pigs.
It's a big secret. love, Val
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