The great thing about having my mom sharing our home is that she's providing a wonderful balance to my more...Bohemian...tendencies. Perhaps my housekeeping skills are not all they could be. Perhaps, during college, I put sheets on my bedroom floor for a few months and called it art. Perhaps, just perhaps, I've been known to go a long, long time without dusting. Or mopping. Or, you know, putting away the laundry, unless the floor of my walk-in counts as "away". My mother, she likes the doing of the laundry. I have told her that if all she ever does is the laundry, her room and board are more than paid for. (Obviously, I don't expect her to do jack. But if it makes the woman who birthed me happy, who am I to fight it?)
Now, you may think that children raised in my...well, for lack of a better word, let's call it squalor...would be used to it. Apparently not:
PK: "Yo, Mama! I finally hauled away all those gym bags under the coat rack."
Mom: "That's nice, honey."
The Girl: "OOOOOOOH! It's so SHINY! Can I sleep under there tonight, Mama? Can I? Can I sleep under there?"
We here chez PK like to enjoy the simple things. Like sleeping under coat racks. Sigh.