Did you ever just look around your house and say ugh?

Maybe it’s because I’ve been spending so much time in it thanks to Mother Nature, but I’m noticing some things around the house that are really making me twitch.

A brothel of half-naked Barbies sprawled over the floor.

Dozens of “Petite Picassos” as I like to call them, all over the table. They’re all beautiful, trust me. There’s just a lot of them.

Stuffed animals up the ying-yang.

Valentines from my girls’ classmates that they have to keep. Mind you, some of them are from pre-k kids who can’t even write their names. Yet, they are keepsakes.

Crayons. Lots of crayons. Broken, whole, you name ’em, we got ’em.

Dittos from school. More like “ditto diarrhea”. Yet, I feel bad even throwing one away because I know my daughter poured her heart into each and every one of them.

Toys. Tiny, big…it doesn’t matter

Dust bunnies.

Appliances that need a facial. Floors that need a wax. Cubbies that need the big “O” (organization).

Sigh.

My husband says I’m exaggerating. He says we have two kids, what do you expect?

I expect not to feel like my house needs a colon cleanse.

That’s right, a colon cleanse. A deep cleaning from the inside out to purge out all the nastiness and junk.

Truth be told, if you walked into my house you wouldn’t think it’s that bad. I’ve seen worse. But, it still gets under my skin.

I want to give my Swiffer and Magic Eraser a big cuddle and then send them to work overtime.

I want to take a garbage bag and just toss all the things that are making me break out in hives. The kids will never notice. Right?

Sometimes, they actually don’t. Then there are the times I put things in a box to put in the basement and they somehow find them. They pull them out of the box and resurrect them. There’s no fighting it. It’s exhausting.

Total defeat.

If you feel like your house is that bad, then why don’t you just give it a colon cleanse? You may ask.

Because I have kids. Simply put. We all know things don’t stay clean and organized for more than one minute before crumbs and dolls invade once again.

Sigh.

Excuse me while I go bury my OCD in the mound of toys in the playroom.