I have been hoarding my February issue of Martha Stewart Living, saving it for a quiet moment when I could savor each page of home perfection.
Tonight that moment of quiet occurred in the bathtub. I ran the water super hot, got in and cracked open the magazine. I had made it a few pages when I audibly swooned.
It was a linen closet, a truly magnificent linen closet.
1. I do not own a linen closet. I barely have any clothes closets, never mind an actual closet with shelves devoted for linens.
2. I cannot fold sheets. I am sheet folding illiterate. I wash the sheets and then kind of crumple them up and shove them into a box under my bed.
3. My kids sheets aren't even on the same floor as their beds.
My house is a linen closet failure. There are no neatly folded stacks of lavender scented, color coordinated sheets sitting upon clearly labeled shelves. I am coming to realize that I may die before I achieve this goal.
In other news, I finally realized why my house has smelled weird all day.
Good news: It was not a dead bird.
Bad news: Lily had taken some rinsed, but by no means washed tuna fish cans out of the recycling and had a game of three card monte going on in her room.
So, that's my day. Squalor, tuna smell and gambling. You?