One could possibly argue that point with success...in fact, I rarely leave the house, unless you count the trips to the backyard, or the trails behind our house, so it seems to the untrained eye that I am a hermit.
And possibly a bored, under stimulated hermit.
I am not. In fact, I often lament the lack of hours in the day...the fact that for some odd reason, there are only sixty seconds in a minute, and the same in an hour. There's rarely enough time to sleep, very little down time, and I can't honestly remember the last time I watched something on TV just for me from start to finish.
I did listen to the first episode of season 8 of top chef while I made tonight's red pepper and pea risotto. Maybe that counts. I'm not sure.
Today, Santa came to the neighbor's house in a firetruck, so I dutifully washed, dried, lotioned, and dragged the kids across the way, to the dismay of the large black dog.
The dog then dutifully stole the hot dog rolls, a half a loaf of fresh baked bread, and two pairs of underwear from the dirty laundry. She then tipped over the CLEAN laundry, buried in two of the hot dog rolls, and pawed the clean laundry, together with the rolls, until she had managed to distribute bread crumbs all through out every one's socks.
I wanted those hot dog rolls.
That's two more loads of laundry that need redoing. This on the heels of the shitty towel incident.
That happened Thursday. As I'm trying, desperately, to get the laundry caught up, I place a stack of clean, fresh, white towels on the back of the toilet, and note that there is no toilet paper.
A fact that is promptly forgotten, by everyone in the household. Except Miss Angel Little Girl. She, as bright as she is, solved the problem of the missing "wiper towels" by dropping the stack of clean bath towels on the floor, and using each one to wipe her bottom a single time before dropping it on the other side of the toilet.
I failed to make the connection as to why she wanted to use the upstairs bathroom- because she liked the "wiper towels upstairs better."
Yeah, it's my fault.
Maybe someday I'll make past laundry and dishes on to cleaning my floors. Maybe.
In the mean time, I'll just hope my under stimulated brain doesn't dribble out my ears before the two young little monsters hit preschool. One can only hope.