The maid is so fired

I've already informed all of you that we no longer have someone who cleans our house. What magnifies that tragedy is that I rarely have time to do it either. You do the math there. My cleaning routine is less: I think I'll Spend Saturday Scrubbing the Baseboards Cleaning and more: Holy Shit Company is Coming Cleaning. There are a couple of areas that get missed in Holy Shit Company is Coming Cleaning and our bedroom is often one of them. When you have a limited time to clean, you clean the areas that matter. Our bedroom is rarely one of them. Yes, I know that goes against all things zen and feng shui. Maybe that is my problem, a reasonable excuse for all of those character flaws.

Since our bedroom has become a squalor pit and attracts all things without a home, we avoid it unless we are sleeping. Kate is rarely in our room unless she comes in our bed on a weekend morning as I continue to sleep and she looks at me in silent wonder. Uh huh. My blog, my story.

One weekend this summer, we stayed the night at Craig's mom house. We set Kate's pack-and-play up in their guestroom, next to the bed. The bed is a large king bed that was made with a very thin, delicate coverlet. It was wrinkle free and perfect, like Grandma's beds are supposed to be. When we went in to take Kate for bedtime, she was overly obsessed with the bed. She kept asking if we were going to be sleeping it in, which I assured her that we would be. For a number of minutes the questions continued and then she kept saying, "and you aren't going to cover up your feet?" Over and over and over again I reassured her that we would indeed cover our feet up.

Kate just doesn't come up with random nonsense and it aggravated me for the rest of the night. I could not figure out why on earth she would be so obsessed with us not covering up our feet. A number of times through the evening, I would make that comment and ask Craig if he could think of what she meant. After about time 498, he looked at me, like if you ask me that one more time woman, you aren't going to be sleeping in that bed at all.

That night as we got into bed, Craig looked at me and said, "I just realized why Kate was so confused .... I don't think she has ever seen a made bed before."

Note: Kate not seeing our bed made and our bed never being made are two totally different things. Just sayin'.

We giggled, for hours, like two high school girls. In retrospect, I am not sure what element of this story is the most disturbing. Now that I just told the internet this, I am going to fall over and die, but it's just too funny to keep to myself.