Poop and fire

Our house goes in stages, from very clean to very messy.
Right now, for example, it is clean.
Not very clean. Not pretty clean. But clean.
The floor is vacuumed, the counter tops are wiped off.
But there are toys and cheerios on the floor, and maybe a dirty dish or two in the sink.
It's impossible for our home to be very clean if our children are awake.
By this afternoon it will be pretty clean, as a few more dishes pile up, and the cheerios are ground into the carpet.

Anyway. Yesterday it was very messy.
Travis was changing Grey's diaper on the living room floor, and there was a knock at the door. I answered the door, and Grey rolled over to see our guests, and Travis yelled "I need you to come help me, he just got poop all over the carpet!" The people standing in our doorway started to enter, as I screamed "HOLY CRAP THE OVEN'S ON FIRE!"
And it was.
Oil that had spilled on to the bottom of the oven had caught fire.
Travis and I quickly traded places and I cleaned the poop off of Grey and the floor, while he tried to stop our house from burning down.
And we shouted instructions for the people who had just walked in to turn on the fan, open the windows, and try to rid ourselves of some smoke.

Our house went from very messy to very, very, ridiculously messy.
Oh my gosh. It was so embarrassing. Whatever. Don't leave comments that say things like "You have kids. This happens to all of us! It's not your fault, whatever. Blah blah blah."

I can't think of a single person that could of walked through my door of whom I wouldn't be embarrassed by the chaos and filth, but did I mention that it was my extremely classy, stylish friend who works as an interior designer for Alice Lane?
Her house is the most immaculate, beautiful, and always clean home that I've ever been in.
IN MY LIFE, people. It's beautiful. I have dreams about living in her house.
She politely commented on the pictures that were hanging up in our house, and how pretty they were, instead of saying "Oh my gosh I just stepped in poop, and then cheerios, and by the way, I can't breathe because of smoke, and I thought you had couches in here... why do I only see piles of unfolded laundry, slightly damp pillows, and a disgusting amount of dirty diapers - which you've piled up here instead of throwing away?"
And I am very grateful for her politeness.

Suzanne, thank you for not judging me (to my face), I understand, however, if you went home and talked smack about my pigsty home.
In fact, if you didn't, then there's probably something wrong.
Because after you left, we talked smack about ourselves... and how embarrassed we are that you came over. Even though we like you. And think you should stop by more often.
In fact, come today. It's not so messy today.

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