Don't worry friends, I won't mislead you.
I am not going to be getting physically down and dirty in this blog, nor will I be ripping the clothes off my body and wrestling some hot vegan chick in some mud.
What I AM going to do however, is give you a few snapshots on the kind of house we "keep" in the Chubby Vegan Clan, despite what my weekly Thursday cleaning stints might lead you to believe.
If you are someone who is allergic to absolute clutter and disarray, you should probably just switch to a different blog post now, because we're two weeks deep into a household move and you're going to see even more madness than you can probably handle.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
It's day three friends, and it's time to "get real."
Do you see those photos over there? No, that's not just a bad day. It's not our house after a playdate with 50 toddlers and we haven't been ransacked either.
That is the utter chaos in which we live. And on my really, really good days, I almost convince myself that one day I'm going to learn to embrace the chaos and see the beauty in it. One day, I'll wake up and be not just accepting of the calamity which enthralls my life, but I'll welcome it.
It's a fun lie I like to tell myself. In fact, sometimes, I even manage to persuade myself that I'll know I'm ready for a second child when I can fully give into the anarchy. I know that having a second child will tear away whatever remaining shred of control I have in my life, so on a good day I feel just on the edge of ready for pandemonium and on a bad day, well, I have one of my infamous Chubby Vegan Mom meltdowns. Yes, they're really as fun as they sound.
The worst part of it all?
I don't even know where these slightly obsessive compulsive tendencies came from. I've never been one who needs to "keep" a clean home, in fact, I could probably life without hangers, drawers or irons forever. But ever since Pearyn came into the picture, I feel like I have to maintain a certain level of housekeeping. (Trust me, I'm not trying to say I want to live in a bug-infested, pig sty, but does it really matter if every.last.toy is arranged in the exact.spot. I feel it should be)?
The worst part about my compulsion? It doesn't extend to every facet of housecleaning. It's like I do just enough that makes me sleep better at night, just enough that I don't want to pound my head against the cabinets when I get up and ready for work in the mornings, but not enough to actually qualify as "clean."
So there you have it. I'm a big, ole "laid-back," OK with chaos faker. And I'm a really bad faker at it anyhow.
My house is a mess. Most days, my life is too. While there might be an appropriate place for every item in our kitchen, I couldn't tell you where it was. We have pliers, nail clippers and canola spray within inches of each other. Sometimes I wash laundry twice because I can't remember if it's dirty or clean. I clean up all of Pearyn's fake kitchen food, but leave her random assortment of stuffed animals, balls and books strewn about the floor.
I'm kind of neurotic in every sense of the word.
But, I know this about myself and I embrace it.
And to be completely "real," I'll fess up to one more thing. We moved our kitchen table into the dining room (see photo two) and while I'd love to report that we've unpacked every frame and decorative item from those boxes that once occupied it's space, we haven't. We just shoved them into the third bedroom and decided to ignore them until next week when my brother, sister-in-law and their kids invade our home and need somewhere to sleep.
And don't even get me started on our first "family dinner" at the table. It's probably a little "too real" for anyone to handle.
How can I expect to deal with the calamity of life, when I can't control the food (and books) on my kitchen table. Pearyn wasn't in the mood to eat her dinner tonight. Instead, she decided to take this opportunity to play peek-a-boo with our newly placed Christmas table cloth, napkins and placemats.