There are currently THREE laundry baskets in my living room. A pile of folded laundry on the footstool. A carseat carrier on it's side on the floor. A pair of mangled dress-up butterfly wings beside it. A few inches away from the wings is my case of blank CD's resting against my empty tennis shoes.
There is leftover marshmallow fluff on my desk, along with a list of the things I need to get at the dollar store for Sophie's ONE YEAR OLD BIRTHDAY PARTY (!!!!), and a green plastic cup with a little of Izzy's leftover milk swirling around a hot pink straw. And a used tissue, crumpled up page from a calendar, and a bank receipt.
On my decorative wire shelf, there is a pile of coupons to sort, two speech therapy reports to put in their binder, a couple of magazines and a pile of property reports from the realtor.
To my left is the kitchen, where I see the dining table piled high with the phone, the end of a pickle, the insurance card & registration from my van, a magazine that I have open to the half a paragraph I want to finish reading before I give it away, a half loaf of bread, my decorative basket of glass fruits and vegetables, a box of oyster crackers, a Tabasco catalog, a Fanny Farmer cookbook, a hot pad, half a strawberry, a baby spoon, and a few bite-size pieces of strawberry.
This is a list of the crap I have to pick up before I go to bed. Even worse, this is just a partial list, for it only consists of those items I can easily see when glancing around from my perch here at the computer.
I could take a picture and show you. But you don't want to see this.
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