Under the scene of perfect domestic bliss

/snerk.../gigglesnort...

It' a Wed evening. Dinner is done. Icecream had been had. I'm sitting on the couch working on a blanket I'm crocheting. Pa is at the kitchen table working on a jigsaw. Teh Spawn is her room reading her Kindle. Son is upstars with friends watching a movie. There are kitties curled up on the cushions of the kitchen chairs. I have a dog at my feet chewing on a bone and one on the back of the couch behind me. The living room is so cozy warm from the woodstove.

And then I realize I'm sweating. My cozy living room isn't too warm because of the blanket I'm working on, laying across my lap. The damper on the stove got left open a little too far and its 78 degrees in here all of a sudden. The blanket should be done already but I got 3/4 done and realized I'd messed up the pattern, and had to take it apart to the half way mark to redo it.

The kitties aren't supposed to be in the house let alone curled up in the kitchen. They are outdoor cats. Barn cats who live in my garage in the winter because I dont have a barn yet. I don't have a littler box in the house, and they tear up my curtains, drink out of the base of the Christmas tree, and bat the ornaments onto the ground. 

Pa is at the table working on the jigsaw because the children who should be in town hanging out with their friends, have a friend over at home instead because Teh Spawn got in trouble, and are monopolizing the dvd player. They got there first. The cable has been shut off and my TV is too old to pick up regular stations on it's own. So Pa had to find something to do to occupy himself downstairs. 

Dinner is over, which means the sink is full of dishes, the leftovers are still on the the counter. I worked all day while the family sat at home, I cooked the dinner, but since I haven't put away the leftovers, no one will clean the kitchen. People just keep walking in and out, grabbing other goodies to eat, and adding to the mess. 

Teh Spawn is Stuck in her room. Grounded to her room for the duration of the night. She should be cleaning it. In protest she's sitting on her bed, surround by crap on the floor, checking her facebook, while she's supposed to be grounded. 

The dogs? The chihuahua behind me needs help to climb his fat butt up there. He's too fat to get up by himself, and I indulge him every time he looks up at me with those fat wrinkles around his eyes, and whines. The dog at my feet? She's chewing on the  the bone from the piece of steak the cats drug out of the trashcan while I wasn't looking. She chewed on that greasy thing right in the middle of my kitchen floor. I didn't have to the heart to take it from her after she stole it from the cats.

The nitty gritty view of my perfect picture of domestic bliss.