Seriously, if you don't hear from me tomorrow.. send help. You might want to start looking over by the washing machine.. that foot sticking out from under the mound of dirty laundry, just might be me. Or I might be in the back bedroom suffocated by the smell of urine soaked crib sheets or I might have my head in the oven, passed out from cleaning it. Those fumes are deadly.
Not there... try by my desk I might just be under it clutching school newsletters to my chest crying silently while muttering "no more, no more, I don't want to volunteer, I can't bake 200 cupcakes for tomorrow, just no time, just no time."
On second thought... never mind. There's no way I want my house to be plastered all over the news from the search and rescue team. Just leave me there. Eventually my husband will find my body. Possibly when he's looking for a clean shirt. Hopefully, he'll mourn me and not just my super mom cleaning abilities and multitasking organizational skills. Hopefully he'll be crying and saying..."my poor dear wife.. I should have cleaned the bathroom more." *sob*
A girl can dream, can't she?
THIS BLOG DELAYED FOR CLEANING.
In the Mommy Trenches