When I first bought my new house in May, I was little-miss-homemaker. The fridge was full of home-cooked meals in neat tupperware containers for the week ahead, the book cases were never dusty, my CDs were alphabetized, the dishes were always clean, the laundry baskets were void of dirty clothes and the carpet was always vacuumed and the floors swept. I even scrubbed smudges from the walls. Weekly.
Now I find myself sitting at work, not wearing any underwear, because I haven't done laundry in a million years. My weekly cleaning habit has become biweekly at best. The dishes pile up, clumps of cat hair blow along the wood floors like tumble weed, the CDs lie in a jumbled heap, dirty laundry covers the bedroom floor and I have resorted to buying lunches in our over-priced-not-very-tasty cafeteria.
I guess the honeymoon is over.