Attack of the House

Oh my.

My house is such a mess.

No, really, it is a mess.

There isn't one inch that couldn't use something, be it dusting, straightening, rearranging, washing, or general condemnation.

It's a long story as to how it got this way.  Suffice it to say, it's been a challenging year and I just haven't always had the energy to spare on even the most basic things.

But that time is behind me now, thankfully, and now I just stand, with my hands on my hips, and shake my head.  Where to begin?

I don't know, but begin I must as the condition of this house is really bringing me down and beginning to interfere with our lifestyle (read:  I don't want to have anyone over).

So where to begin?

I know some recommend Flylady, but I end up breaking up with her almost instantaneously due to her stalker-like email practices.  Perhaps I need to make a list.  But the list would be so long that I could have a pretty formidable task completed in the time I'd take to compose a meaningful list.  I could take the 15-minutes at a time approach, but for some reason that daunts me, too. 

Room by room?  Interval by interval?  Task by task?

There is no answer.

We could move.

No, no one would buy this house in this condition.  And no one would list this house in this condition.

We're stuck.

I guess I'll start corner by corner.

That's it.

I'll start in the front hall, behind the door where the kids hang their jackets, school bags, sweaters, etc.  Then I'll work my way down the hall to the powder room.  Having those two places spic-n-span would give the appearance of a well-kept home were someone to stop by and I barred them from entering any room other than the front hall.  I could do that!

 

Okay, I'm off to tackle the kids' area in the front hall . . .

If I'm not back in an hour . . . grab your favorite cleaning implement and come looking for me.

Please.