Perhaps I've Gone A Bit Too Far ... Again

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Last night on Twitter, I made this statement:

"Nobody move. Nobody breathe. Nobody eat. The house is clean."

To be fair, that statement was an exaggeration. The only part of the house that was clean was the ground floor. The upstairs was still yucky, and the basement was ... well ... let's not go there.  (Seriously, you don't want to go down there.)

Starting at about 1:30 in the afternoon, I broomed, vacuumed, and dusted everything stationary. I decluttered crap, threw away crappier crap, decatted furniture with tape, defurred one of the cats with a brush, and sorted and matched toy parts. What I did not do was sanitize and stain-lift.  I mean, I only had so much time, and I had to prioritize.  I decided that digging out the stray strawberry plants from the yard and removing the broken down bulb leaves from the plants next to the door was a higher priority.  After all, those leaves have recently been trying to randomly attack people walking up the sidewalk to the front door.

Heck, I even managed to get half the laundry done.  I was still working hard on the toys when the Va Tech-Boise State game came on at 8 PM.  At 9 PM I finally broke down, put the vacuum away, and made dinner for myself because I decided that enough just had to be enough.  As tired as I was getting, if I kept trying to clean, I might only end up making things worse.
 
What, may you ask, was the cause of all this furious activity?  Why, it was Labor Day, and we are supposed to labor on Labor Day, right?  No, no.  Of course not.  Was it because Darling Husband was supposed to be helping me but instead snuck off to actually watch the football game live and in-person?  (Totally unexpected, of course, because we have no ties to either school, and DH learned most his football enthusiasm from your's truly, so he isn't usually the kind to sneak off to any game unless I go with him.)  No, that wasn't it either, although it didn't help.

Actually ... I am sheepishly forced to admit that I just might have overreacted a little bit to the pending home visit from Toddler's preschool teacher.

I know, I know.  It's just preschool, and just a 15 minute home visit. 

But, still.  Toddler has enough spunk and talk in him to make his own reputation in preschool.  He doesn't need any weird preconceived notions in anyone's head because of my inept housekeeping and gardening skills.  After all, he's a pretty darn cute kid that happens to be the son of a nerd and a geek.  Odds are he will be in glasses before he is six, and it's starting to look like he might be too short for sports.  The deck is stacked against him enough as it is without my help.

So, there I was, going through my ground floor room by room, shining them all.  When I was done with each room, I drew an invisible line at the door and told everyone (the cats and Toddler) that they were not allowed to leave any fur or toys in that room. In fact, they weren't even allowed to be in that room, because Mrs. Teacher was coming and we wanted to make a good impression.

Toddler asked if we couldn't just call her on the phone instead.

Maybe he has the better idea, because now I have to figure out what the two of us are going to wear.  I suspect Toddler's PJ tops and pull-ups will not be setting the right tone.  Getting those alfalfa cow-licks slicked down on the crown of his head won't be easy either.

Was I supposed to bake muffins?  Is that what the really organized stay-at-home moms would do?

I'm stll tired, and the late, late, edge-of-the-seat ending on the football game last night didn't help either.  My eyes are bloodshot and teary, and I probably look like I am coming off a bender.

I wasn't cut out for this.