Get Real!

Kate over at The Tate School posted a link to Randi's idea about yesterday being Get Real Day. I've wanted to do this for a while, ever since Allison over at Geronimo got the mistaken impression that I have it all together.

The truth is, my life is neither all-together nor falling apart. As my husband says, it kind of goes in waves. Our house will be very, very tidy and organized, and then it will be very messy and out-of-control.

This past weekend, we were working on celebrations and making memories. Special dinner, special dessert, volleyball, bowling, choir practice, piano lessons, working on speeches for competitions, taking time to visit with friends, algebra class, thrift store shopping, Spring term planning, taking an evening out to watch a mediocre movie and eat CiCi's garlic bread, going to church, reading aloud, doing schoolwork, etc, and that hasn't left much time for cleaning. This will be perfectly clear to you when you look at the pictures. Delight, my friends, in Thicket Dweller's inadequacy. And I didn't even show you the basement or the litter boxes or the chicken poop on the porch.

I'll be honest with you. I didn't really realize how messy it was until I started taking pictures! I've just been caught up in the busyness of everything. And when your house smells like milk chocolate cheesecake, it kinda gives you the impression that you simply MUST be Betty Crocker. But now, I see the light. And the laundry.

So, tomorrow, as part of preparing for our special lunch guest, T.M., we'll be arising early to CLEAN the house and GET THE LAUNDRY DONE. And, just to make me feel better, I'll post pictures of my CLEAN house. Which one is the real me...the one with the clean house, or the one with the messy one? Depends on which day you drop by.

But there will still be chicken poop on the porch. That's just reality. Deal with it.

My messy writing desk.

Messy kitchen table.

Monet's dirty laundry.

Messy pantry.

Sweetheart's messy bedroom.

Messy laundry room.

My messy makeup table.

My messy bedroom. I couldn't even take a decent picture of it because it's so messy. The camera just kept trembling with fear.

Messy Houdin's room.

Messy kitchen.

Sink full of dishes.

Clean laundry waiting to be folded. Oh, but if this were ALL the laundry.

My messy tub.

Messy kids' bathroom.

Fiddling while Rome burns.

Kids playing N64 in a messy gathering room.

Messy Monet's room.

A Nest of Baby Bunnies

 

Bunnies!

I blinked my eyes and tried to focus on the blob that was standing at the foot of my bed. It seemed to be making some kind of noise. Talking, I think. I squeezed my eyelids together tightly and then opened them again. Ah, it was Monet, my second-born-son. And he was very excited.

"The rabbits had babies! And they're all okay! They had nine! Or ten! We can't tell, but they're all okay!"

Okay. This was starting to make sense. Yesterday, when Monet had gone to do his chores, which include taking care of the rabbits, he had found three frozen kits in the nest box of our outdoor cage. About a month ago, the indoor rabbits had given birth but had...ahem...eaten the babies.

So I ambled downstairs after my trip to the potty and peered into the tank that holds our three indoor rabbits. There they were, a mass of tangled bunny legs and ears and bodies, tucked cozily into a nest of hay, bedding and fur. The mama rabbits had done their jobs and all of the babies looked squirmy and happy.

I counted them all--the black ones, the white ones, the grey ones and the spotted ones--and there were fifteen. Fifteen! After checking the mamas, I confirmed my suspicions. Both mamas had their babies at the same time, creating a mound of warm, wiggly kits.

As long as the mamas nurse the babies--and they definitely are lactating--we'll have fifteen healthy bunnies in no time. Then Sweetheart and Monet will be able to take them to market and earn a bit of money for all of their hard daily work of feeding and watering the rabbits.

Sweetheart, of course, is already lobbying to keep them. All.