Chris and I are going to dinner tomorrow for my (29th) birthday, which is lovely. Mia will be attended for the evening by all four grandparents, which is also lovely. What is not lovely is that knowing people will be hanging out here tomorrow means I am compelled to clean my entire house today. Obviously, I mean that I am compelled by my own formidable neurosis, not by some jack-booted thug standing over me with a crowbar telling me I had better sweep under the stove if I know what's good for me.
The truth is that, short of actual squalor, the grands don't give a damn what my house looks like, so long as I get out of the way and allow them full fawning access to their only grandchild. I had even decided that I wasn't going to do it. I was determined to spend Mia's single and fleeting daily nap sitting on my ever-expanding ass and reading a book or some blogs or picking my nose or anything other than cleaning. (As an aside, and I know I have asked this before, but I am going to continue to do so until I receive a satisfactory answer, why in the hell did you people allow me to buy a house with four bathrooms? Why? Do you hate me?)
Needless to say, that sit on my ass thing didn't work out. I did have to take a break from what can only be accurately described as a cleaning frenzy to find out (and asking you people is really the only way I find anything out these days) whether I am the only pitiful freakazoid who has to do every last bit of laundry before having people over. Am I? Yeah, I figured.
I'm not cleaning the fucking bathtubs. Anybody who takes a bath while babysitting gets what they deserve.