GRRR

Perhaps my recent bout of depression stems from the vacuum created by endless, mind-numbing housework. I swear, I simply do not get it. How in the world do clean-house people do it?!?! It must be a genetic thing. I try, I really, really do. And it seems that every time I pick pu the pace, the kids stay right there with me. Case-in-point: Not ten hours ago, I had just finished cleaning my disgusting kitchen. Not a single dirty dish, nor spill on the counter, nor even a crumb on the floor. And now? Now, the sink is spilling over the sides with dishes full of uneaten meals, and there are toys covering the whole expanse. Even despite my sincere effort at preventing just such a disaster. I wonder, is this what it feels like to "Go Postal"?