There are moments in my home that can only be tidily described as chaos. Last night, as my two youngest were building a fort in the bedroom, I heard some concerning-sounding thuds: “That was the bathroom mirror, Mom!” (Oh. I think that’s supposed to make me feel better?) There was also the repetitive, distinctive bleat of a kazoo, which I could have sworn I’d already thrown away. At least there was a lot of giggling, wrestling, and role-playing complete with foreign accents. (This time, at least, it was a good chaos.)
Taming Your House Full of Chaos
Taming Your House Full of Chaos
Taming Your House Full of Chaos
There are moments in my home that can only be tidily described as chaos. Last night, as my two youngest were building a fort in the bedroom, I heard some concerning-sounding thuds: “That was the bathroom mirror, Mom!” (Oh. I think that’s supposed to make me feel better?) There was also the repetitive, distinctive bleat of a kazoo, which I could have sworn I’d already thrown away. At least there was a lot of giggling, wrestling, and role-playing complete with foreign accents. (This time, at least, it was a good chaos.)