Dear Tidy Lady Whose Child Sleeps At My House

A debriefing is in order.

I understand that your need for childcare is dire. So desparate in fact, that it was necessary to employ that crazy lady down the street- the one with the periodic puppy, the three MIA, presumed dead hamsters lost in the ductwork of the house swaying dangerously over its legal weight limit due to her penchant for cast-off clutter.

That being said; there is a certain rhythmn to the mayhem that is her main floor. Its eclecticism holds a certain charm that causes deep cravings for dark roast and thick, warm slices of pumpkin loaf. Its surfaces are forgiving, bohemian, Comfortable.

But somehow, with the increased pressure of gravitational force, things slide steadily into disrepair. I find it prudent to explain this to you now, even though the information would have stood you in good stead prior to your unfortunate trip up the stairway into the quagmire that is my upper level.

First and foremost- the stairs are crooked by design. We paid a lot of good money to an architect to get those calculations done properly in order for those stairs to look the way they do.
And the railing? The one that I primed four years ago? Well, I happen to like that design that occured quite by accident- sort of a sponge-paint, art-deco, pseudo-designer type of look. White, with scratch marks. Uh- Huh. It offsets the wall beautifully- the wall that got patched with wall putty four years ago. Yup, four years ago it was practically ready to paint, and if you glance over to the door leading into my artist studio, you'll see lovely colour samples of potential colours that are by now entirely out of circulation. Lovely colours, those.

You'll likely be so charmed by the architectural wonder of the stairs and the bold paint designs of the bannister and wall that you'll miss the special effects when you arrive on the second level. A lovely carpet, repurposed from a friends' living room and cut to size for the boys room with the aid of a steak knife. A plush delight for tired feet is that carpet; but not so wondrous as the carpet yet to come in the adjoining bedroom. Utterly stained. Bits and strips of cast-off carpet grace the bedroom in which your cherub nappeth.

Well, that's what you might have mistakenly believed. But it is not so.
This is a special carpet, inlaid with special motifs not easily interpreted to the inexperienced eye. What to the novice appears to be stains from spills are really the costly work of a commissioned artist. What appear to be (steak knife shaped) seams are really not. They're something way fancier than that. Something so fancy and hoity toity that words just now escape me.

So, when you scoop up your beloved from where she naps, and you crinkle your nose at the disgrace that is our carpet and unpainted, but be-sampled walls, as yourself whether you have interpreted it all entirely correctly.

Is this the home of an unbalanced, shifty-staired, hamster losing au pair? Or has your child just been ushered into the local, under appreciated louvre? Perhaps it is time to reevaluate your prior conclusion that the need for childcare had reached drastic and reckless levels of desperation, and instead be awed by the oppurtunities that your loved one will surely enjoy in this wellspring of creativity and raw , partially painted beauty.

Yes, tidy lady. Perhaps there are lessons in home decor that are yet to be learned in this mastery that is your local daycare.

And with that, I thank you most sincerely for your time.