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I know the feeling. I honestly do.
I know how it feels to look around at your messy house, and even your life, and say the word “impossible.” I know what it’s like to think there is too much to do and not enough time…or energy…or arms. I know the discouragement of waking up full of ambition for finally tackling the out-of-control toys and the stacks of dishes, only to have your plans derailed by a fussy baby or a disobedient child.
I know. I’ve been there. Many days, I’m still there in some shape or form.
Sure, if you were to stop by my house this afternoon, you might think it’s lovely and clean, but I can see the piles all over the desk that drive my husband absolutely crazy (although he’d never say so). And I can’t forget the mess that hides behind a certain bedroom door where there’s barely a path to get from the bed to the closet. I know the shelves I promised to straighten up months ago, last season’s clothes I never put away, the sticky spot that’s been on the kitchen floor for at least a week.
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