The joy of a smelly house

I don’t much care about keeping up with the Joneses.  But I totally envy people with clean, well decorated, yummy smelling houses.  The kind where everything matches perfectly, with no handprints on the wall and windows, and apple and cinnamon permeates the air.  I know that I have three kids under 8 and two dogs over 10 so I’ve got a pretty good excuse for a messy house.  And, of course, I would not trade any of the inhabitants of this house for all the interior designers in the world, but, man, do I want a clean house.  One without continuous stains on the carpet and couches.  One that doesn’t smell like old dogs and dirty diapers.  One where toys don’t scatter throughout the whole first floor.  One where the pillows aren’t torn and bleeding cotton.  I’ve tried to achieve it, but it’s just a lot of work for a few hours of clean.  Because it only lasts a few hours.  And then things are back to their normal level of messiness.  So I’ve decided to quit Jonesing for a clean house and just learn to appreciate that I have a house.  One filled with laughter and messes, smiles and stains, love and stinkiness.  And it’s all mine.

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