Why

So, it isn't a secret that I am a terribly house keeper. Terrible. Honestly, if something isn't jumping up and down and demanding to be cleaned, it doesn't bother me enough to be bothered, unless I absolutly force myself. 

BUT, saturday and sunday are my clenaing days. I do floors and laundry and pick up toys and haul 

them to the appropriate rooms. Well, today isn't a weekend day, today is the second day we spent cooped up in the house. 

So when the apartment manager showed up to do the monthly bug spray, the place was a major pig sty. Like, major even for me. 

Well, I was good, I cleaned up while the little guys slept. I swept and picked up and mopped and other wise was a good kid and cleaned the damn house. And then Isaiah came in from playing and the little boys got up from their naps and I made biscuits and gravy fro dinner. 

And the house is once again an unmitigated nightmare. And that is why I am such a lousey house keeper. Its so futile. It doesn't even stay nice for a day, or even an evening. It just get immediatly repitted. If it were an activity that felt like it accomplished something I really think I would feel differently. 

But it is just the same all the time. i pick up. I sweep. I mop. I wash dishes and shuffle laundry. And it never ends. It never stops. it just goes on and on and on. 

And the truly frustrating thing is that I try very hard to keep up with it, and people pop in, when its a pit, but never during that half hour when it looks good.