I was having one of those giving up - not in such a bad way - times earlier today about the state of my house. Between Lone Star Pa's insistence on the prominent placement of television stuff, speakers and wires in what could have been a lovely little living room and the fact that the Lone Star Girl smears paint and clay from one end of the house to the other, including all over the clothes she got new for school this year, there just isn't any real hope, even if I did something about the stacks of books and papers that are mostly my fault. We just cannot apparently have a house that looks like any grown-ups live in it.
It worries me when the Montessori teachers go on about how visual clutter (which we have probably raised to a new level of pathology) hinders the development of concentration, etc., but I am tired of fighting it. Next week, I will probably be totally stressed again by my dirty house, but I have to take a little peace of mind where I can find it.
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