I've been busy the last few days trying to get my upstairs back in order. For some reason my entire house can never seem to be clean at the same time and I find this very annoying.

My brother was here for a few days (remember the "Democrat"?) and I was thankful he had never had reason to go upstairs and lay his eyes upon the area of our home that I call the "dump".

Clean clothes had been unloaded from the dryer and thrown at the top of the stairs into a pile. Now, I am sure these clothes were actually in a basket at some point, that is until someone needed to find there favorite pair of jeans and they just dumped the whole load onto the ground where the rest of us walked over it for several days. Heaven forbid someone besides myself actually stopped and folded a few things as they navigated the mine field. I believe there were at least four loads dumped at the top of the stairs like this.

When you navigated away from the landing area and headed right you hit my bedroom. Where you would find more laundry sorted into piles of not clean clothes but dirty ones. All over my room. I had to many spring break days of playing and obviously had gotten behind on my chores. Not only were there clothes all over my room but a game of Chutes & Ladders that had not been picked up, playing cards scattered around for some reason, and various other toys and items that no one seemed to have any idea how they got there.

What I'm trying to tell you was that my upstairs was a DISASTER AREA.

So, when I arrived home from Chuck E' Cheese last week, where I had left my brother and fourteen year old son alone, I was surprised when this question came out of my brothers mouth.

Did your upstairs look like that when the social worker came and did the Home Study?

Umm, you went upstairs?

I needed a towel and Tyler told me to go into your room and grab one. Did you know it looked like a bomb went off up there? That is just wrong, so wrong, for your house to look like this.

This of course coming from my OCD brother who has never had children and has only himself to worry about.

If looks could kill my fourteen year old son would be dead right now. Why oh why did he not go upstairs and get the towel himself. Why would he let anyone see the mess that was our upstairs?

When I asked him this question he gave me this typical teenage response. "I didn't think it looked all that bad upstairs." Um, yeah.

Firstly, in answer to his question, my house did not look like that during our home study. Secondly, I am ever so thankful to be married to a man who never criticizes my housekeeping skills no matter how out of control our home can become. He knows it can go from spotless to a mess in a blink of an eye. He is wonderful.

The next evening my brother picked up my Mom and they both came to Garrett's (9) Little League game. Towards the middle of the game there was a play where Garrett scored and before entering the dugout went to grab his bat from the other teams catcher. The catcher looked at Garrett and instead of handing the bat to him threw it down the first base line.

Now, I need to tell you that the catcher was a very large boy. My brother did not take kindly to his behavior and let lose with this comment.

"Hey you little fat a--, what did you do that for?

Not exactly politically correct. My teenagers thought this was hysterical as they have never heard anything like this come from there actual parents. Only there crazy uncle.

Luckily only our teens and some friends sitting near by heard him (who also were cracking up, geez) when I sent my brother my best teenage dagger stare to which he got the message and was a good boy for the rest of the game.

On the way home my oldest was commenting on how funny his uncle was. Um, yeah I responded.

I'm really surprised he actually said something like that, he continued, what with being a Democrat and all. I thought they were suppose to be politically correct and calling someone a fat a-- isn't really politically correct.

Yes, dear this is another reason why Democrat's are very very bad people. That and they don't like messy houses. Who can figure?

Labels: Mom Stuff