I Am a Slob

I am a slob. I admit it. My dad was a slob, my grandma was a slob. It might go further back, I don't know. What I do know is that my husband is not a slob, although he does seem incapable of hitting the laundry basket with his socks. My daughter is not a slob, although she seems incapable of remembering to clear her plate after dinner. My neighbors are not slobs, at least none of the ones that I have been inside the homes of. My daughter told me that we needed to sweep the floor before her 10th birthday party because she had friends coming over who have never been here and she doesn't want them to know we are slobs. Excepts we aren't slobs. There is no we. There is just me. My housework motto is that as long as there is no smell and spaces to sit down, things are fine. And our somewhat messy house hasn't stopped her friends from coming over. In fact, it seems like our house is often bursting with Tweens. I told my daughter that she could have the mom who keeps the house spotless, or the mom who makes cookie dough and plays video games. She chose the latter, which is good because I could never be the former. As we recently moved into a new house, it's as good a time as any to get organized. Or as close as a slob by nature can get. Eventually people are going to figure out that we didn't just move in two weeks ago, and that the boxes in the front room are a result of my laziness and slobbish nature. Feel free to join me in my attempted journey towards less stuff, a cleaner, more organized space, and a Tupperware cupboard that doesn't cascade onto my head when I open the cupboard.