I Don't Want To Live Like A Refugee....

Library, thrift store, bakery, Target, bagel shop, bookstore - can you tell I didn't want to be in my own house yesterday? I needed to escape the torn-up kitchen and the refrigerator in my dining room - you know, when the going gets tough, the wimps run away. That's me.

Luckily, Theo wasn't put off by the mess and made us a decent dinner (stir-fry chicken with walnuts - excellent); luckily, because our sodium counts are going through the roof, what with being on the road all weekend and being kitchen refugees yesterday and Monday. I do like that boy. So now I just have to get the house ready for guests this evening. Which means, I take the myriad items lying around the main floor and throw them either upstairs or downstairs, close all the bedroom doors, wipe down the powder room, yell at all the kids non-stop not to leave their stuff around, and voila! I'm company-ready.

Martha Stewart secretly wishes she had my touch.

Maybe I should clean the oven, too, since a perfect stranger will be using it and may not understand why I leave charred bits of food on the bottom as burnt offerings to the kitchen gods. Oh, and the inside of the refrigerator is pretty gross. But I'll just blame the kids. There. Problem solved.

I don't know how Dawn had the nerve to let those TV cameras in, but I love her for it.