Busy days here at the salt mine. Falling asleep on the sofa as soon as I get home. Partly because I am exhausted from s-c-h-o-o-l, and partly because I couldn't face the house anymore. The males that share this abode never seem to notice dirt, or grime, or the need to clean a bathroom. They don't hear those crunching sounds when they walk around in the house. They are blind to an overflowing trash can. Just as they never notice the need to take a shower, or change underwear, or comb their hair. Just a bunch of Real Men. And Real Men don't do housework.
That leaves just me. Why, oh why, did I let those girls get married?
Mopping, laundry, bathrooms, vacuuming, dusting, decluttering every single surface, throwing away everything that I've begged people to put away. That's how I've spent my day. The kitchen is so clean it would be a crime to mess it up. So I didn't commit any crimes. We ate out tonight.
But I must say that the whole time, I was trying to figure out how to get a pair of capri baby pants out of a teeny little piece of fabric. It couldn't be done, but this could:
I'm making just plain little floral bloomers with nothing fancy on the front. The back, however, will be adorned with pink ruffles.
I'm off to make ruffles!