If you're like me, then your house goes in cycles from clean to slightly messy, to more messy, to junkyard in a hurricane messy, and then back to clean. It stays in the clean phase for about a nanosecond. I usually run around like a maniac cleaning up barbies, dirty socks, stuffed animals and/or food wrappers all day only to have my house still look like a complete wreck by five o'clock. Sometimes life takes precedence over being the maid, and on those occasions my house gets uber neglected.
This past weekend was one of those times. My sister Calee and I are filming a music video (you definitely don't want to miss it), and it has been kind of all consuming the past few days. We are filming part of it at my house, but I don't have a blank wall/nice background so we took the classy road and tacked a sheet to the living room wall. I have a tripod and props laying around. We have filmed the same song about a billion times, and I've listened to it and watched the footage about a billion times a billion times. (Yes, I am also editing this beast. Did I mention I'm not an editor? That makes it fun.) Then Saturday we were gone all day filming at other locations (in 30 degree weather wearing short sleeved dresses. It was the best day of my life). Then Sunday I had choir practice then church then to my dad's for a birthday celebration. Monday I was gone all day. Tuesday I was gone all day. I finally got home Tuesday afternoon, ready to do some cleaning. FINALLY. I put baby down for a nap, when I heard a knock at the door. My 9 year old clears a path to the doorway and answers it, and I hear someone asking for me. I go to the door and see my visiting teachers.
OH NO OH NO.
(For those of you who may not know, visiting teachers are two women from my church who come visit me every month and chat and bring treats and leave me with a nice little message. I have ladies that I visit teach as well. I love the program so much. Except when I have a tornado house. Then I don't love it so much.)
Apparently there was a miscommunication and they were under the impression that they were coming to visit me. In my putrescence. (Look it up.)
I should mention that these ladies are new to me, and have only visited me once before. At which time my home was pristine and smelled like apple cider and all my children were sedated in the basement. JK. My older kids were at school and my baby was napping. Planned it. Nailed it.
I had no choice. I was standing there at the door. No excuse would have worked, although I ran through a list of them in my brain:
I'm not home.
Who are you again?
I'm not Nikki.
Visit? We just finished the visit! Thanks for all the great conversation! Buh bye!
It's just a dead body behind there. Don't worry about it.
We chatted and I made up some lame excuse about my house, like that I've been filming a music video. I'm a 32 year old Mormon mother of 3 and I'm filming a music video. Sounds legit. I'm sure they recognized that it's a perfectly valid reason to have my house looking like it did. Doesn't everyone film music videos instead of doing the dishes? No? Hmm.
They left me with a sweet message on prayer (all the while offering silent prayers for my sanity which had obviously left me, I'm sure) and went on their merry way.
After they left I laid down on a pile of fruit snack wrappers and licked my pride wounds. That sentence is so gross I can't even handle it.
They left. I was embarrassed. The end.