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I am continually mystified as to how things end up where I find them in my house. I would never say Chez Star is spotless, but basic home hygiene is important to me. I’ve even tried to pass that along to my children. You know, the bottom of the barrel basic sort of stuff, like, I don’t know, don’t throw garbage on the floor. Or chewed gum. Or dirty socks.
It’s not rocket science (or so I used to think).
And yet, at least once per week I am perplexed and astounded by something I’ve found. Something that at least one person in this house thinks is OK. Something that makes me think that I’ve been raising holographs, and my actual physical children have lived in a cave for most of their existence.
Here’s what I found in a corner in the living room this morning:
2 candy wrappers
1 wash cloth
1 wooden nine pins ball (covered in sticky candy goo)
1 white rock
2 dead batteries
1 matched pair of dirty socks
an empty tic tac container
2 pieces of a sponge
AND
Cutter’s 2nd grade ID card (he’s in 7th grade this year)
I am neither making this up OR exaggerating. AND? I cleaned that particular corner last weekend. To which I believe the proper response would be “holy shit”. And I would agree.
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