Clean house: empty life

That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it. At least, I really am trying to. But I'm just too damn house proud still. It has certainly comforted me during weeks like the one I've just had to think that the unruliness (sp?) of everything around me just goes to demonstrate what a full, colourful, dynamic life I lead. When actually, it of course only goes to demonstrate that I have three kids under the age of six and another full-time job on the side. But honestly, this week, the house seemed to reach really-SERIOUS-mess proportions. The sunny weather hasn't helped of course. Having the garden to escape to helps one to avoid direct contact with the pit. Today, however, I could no longer avoid the clothes stacking up in staggering heaps in every conceivable corner, the fact that I could no longer see the floor AT ALL in Eden's bedroom, the strange stickiness of the dining room table and the slightly crunchy sensation underfoot in the kitchen. Waking up at 6am this morning I felt unreasonably exhausted. I wilted down the stairs to make a large pot of strong coffee. Three hours later - with everyone else dressed, breakfasted and busy with an assigned task (Eden - painting; Nathan - playing with railway set; Ava - napping) I fell back into bed determined to ignore the mess around me. Sleep was more important, and I hadn't had much of it during the night. If I became much more of a zombie surely they'd notice at work and this time someone really might just decide to sack me! But the bloody mess conspired to keep me awake. Yep, I actually couldn't sleep until it was tidy. Have decided I am clearly too uptight and must relax more. One, two, three - breeeeeeathe.