The downstairs is clean. Well, some of it. Really, just two rooms, but I am basking in the glory of two clean rooms. Not just clutter-free, mind you, but dusted and swept and all of the dirty bits thrown away. Lovely. And then there is another room in the house which is not clean, technically, but looks like it because everything is put away. If one child walked through any of these rooms and even thought about putting a book or a piece of paper down, I appeared magically in the doorway and glared at them until they cowered in fear and began cleaning up messes they hadn't even made just to appease me. Beautiful. Oh, and the screened-in porch, while not inside the house, is also beautiful. I have to tell you all of the places that are neat and orderly in case it never happens again.
I would take a picture - we live in a cynical age and perhaps you need photographic evidence - but the time is 10:36 p.m. and I would have to wake my angel baby husband to get the camera out of our room. Depending on how alert he is, he might question my need for a camera at this time of night. I do not want to see his sweet angel baby forehead wrinkled in confusion, or hear whatever sweet angel baby words might come out of his mouth, so you will just have to trust me on this.
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