scribblechic

I schedule daily domestic duties for Tomorrow so that every morning I gain an extra day of procrastination, sweeping my deadline under the proverbial rug.  When company becomes unavoidable I panic and throw myself, miserably, into a frantic effort to create the image of the life I plan to lead one day soon.

Today was Tomorrow.  I flew through my home powered by caffeine and the threat my imperfect housekeeping habits would be revealed.  The vacuum purred, the toilets sparkled, and I became a sweaty, nervous bundle of good intentions.  By the time my company arrived my home felt eerily unlived in.

Moments after returning home from school my children created a ripple of clutter in the wake of my cleaning that seemed to balance the cleanliness with comfort.  The misplaced shoe and trail of crayons seemed to scribble to anyone looking: Welcome, please be careful, Mom just cleaned.