I've been feeling guilty all week for admitting to not being able to get my own house clean.

So tonight, I am posting my excuse:

I know this is pathetic. I do love the little darlings, and they are occasionally good for a laugh. But they haven't yet caught the vision of the group effort. For example, after a week of sending Wesley downstairs with his folded laundry to put away in his room, I happened to notice a huge pile of socks and underwear on the floor behind his dresser. Apparently, in Wesley's mind, opening the door and chucking your articles across the room is just as good as walking to your dresser and opening a drawer. And I couldn't figure out why the boy kept complaining of no clean underwear. Ian has a similar problem: he doesn't enjoy being dressed, and he disrobes at odd hours, leaving partially or unused diapers here and there about the house. Last night Scott heard noises coming from his room. He entered to find Ian naked, sitting on the rail of the crib. (I realize that I am digressing. I guess I am hoping that the absurd circumstances that I am living in will make a case for my poor homemaking habits. I can hear the violins now.)

We are adjusting in some ways since Annie's birth, although I was reminded today of how much more we would enjoy church if it had a drive-thru window. Coming home we found that the AC was out- on the hottest day of the year. Tomorrow is Pioneer Day, a state holiday, and we will celebrate in the same manner as the original pioneers in 1847: burning up, but happy to be here.

Oh- and with putting children to work. heh heh...