A certain blogger (ahem, Mrs. Fortune) laid claim to the title of the worst housekeeper since Oscar Madison. She provided proof to back up her claim, although she failed to show the bedroom.

While I adore Mrs. Fortune and would never do anything to hurt our bloggy friendship, I would like to challenge her on this topic. I fully believe I am the worst housekeeper ever. Not only do I have pictures to prove it, I have references as well. My mother would gladly affirm to my title as the Queen of Clutter, and my grandmother and aunts would concur.

And now, the proof. First is the room known as my room. It’s a guest room as well as my sewing/craft room.

OK, you could argue that since it is a craft room, a certain amount of clutter is allowed. The bags and boxes are full of fabric that will someday be turned into little dresses. The tote under the bed contains Cordy’s outgrown clothing I want to put on e-Bay. And this is a room that is upstairs, out of the line of sight of the casual visitor.

But there’s more:

This is my computer desk. It looks particularly bad right now because I am a wee bit (like, say, 3 months) behind in balancing the checkbook. I used to do that every week, entering every receipt into Microsoft Money, then filing the receipts away neatly. Well, having a baby does change everything, they say.

But again you could argue that it’s a desk space – a work area – and therefore can easily become cluttered. Plus, it’s an armoire that can be closed. (or so the theory goes) OK, fine. Then here is my ultimate evidence:

This is the console table visitors see upon first entering our house. We bought it so that we could organize all the crap we tend to drop at the door. Ha. Now we have buried it beneath the crap it was purchased to conquer. Look – the lamp even appears to be crying out for help, drowning in the baskets, books, and clutter.

I could show more pictures, but I think my point has been made. And like Mrs. Fortune, I will refrain from showing my bedroom, because the site of that could eliminate my readership entirely.

While I am embarrassed at the clutter I have, I don’t even know where to begin in cleaning it up. Every few weeks, I’ll sit down and begin in a corner, but soon give up to the enormous task facing me. One day I’ll get it under control.

Is there anyone else brave enough to show off their clutter? Bad housewives of the world, unite!

(Oh, and if I suddenly disappear from here, it’s because Martha Stewart found me, ball-gagged me and is holding me hostage until I come up with a game plan to clean this place up, along with painting the walls and making origami lanterns and my own raspberry jam to serve at a beautifully decorated 4th of July party.)

Sometimes I wonder if Linda Hirshman likes the taste of her leather Manolo pumps? She’s given another interview, once again attacking her favorite subject: the stay at home mom. She argues that any time spent at home raising your child is a waste of your precious degree. She also claims that in order to have the most power, you need to have only one child max, and stay away from degrees in art. The entire interview is here.

As someone who now works part-time and would love to stay home full-time with my daughter, I totally disagree with Ms. Hirshman. The point of feminism is to give all women choice. We have the choice to work or not to work. We have the choice to study art or study business. (And besides, Linda? Your degree was in Philosophy. I don’t see you CEO’ing any businesses with a degree in that.) We have a say in our reproductive rights. And telling women they should only have one child max, and that child should be put in daycare so you can keep working, is no better than a conservative man telling women their place is in the home, having several children and caring for them.

Yes, I am an educated woman. True, I have a Bachelor of Arts in History, which qualifies me to do little more than spout off facts about British monarchs, but it also shows I went that extra step and have a well-rounded college education. With my education, I have the power to do the most important job in the entire world, more important than any CEO of a major corporation or the president of any university. I have the power to teach my children. I will teach them about tolerance, about equality, and about the value of history and its ability to repeat itself if ignored.

My being out of the work force for a few years to raise my children will not have the catastrophic effect you say it will. I have no ambitions to be a corporate drone. And I do not see how being a corporate drone, a backstabbing, climb-your-way-to-the-top-clawing-and-kicking member of the business world will bring me “influence, honor, compensation, a way of being political and a hand in shaping the world around you.”

You and I, Ms. Hirshman, are clearly from different worlds. You scoff at volunteer work and think a fancy corporate job with a big paycheck is the only way to shape the world. Yet I could point you to thousands of volunteer organizations that, with the help of their volunteers, are changing the world for the better. What can your 3-piece suit job do to shape the world, other than inspire new heights of greed and commercialism?

And where is it written that a woman can’t do great things working part-time? There are many female professors teaching their classes, writing books and attending conferences, all part-time so they can have a greater role in raising their children. Plus, you always seem to leave out the fact that men are also finding a way to stay home with their children now. You say that women are the ones who naturally are forced to care for their children. Well, maybe the real truth is that men have been forced to be the ones who worked, and only now are finding it easier to ask to be stay at home dads. The walls of gender restrictions are coming down for both genders – let’s not limit it to women.

Finally, I pose this question to you, Ms. Hirshman. What is your advice to a woman who works at a daycare and then has children? She is clearly working as you would want her to. Should she put her child in daycare so that she can continue to work at her daycare? Doesn’t that seem just the slightest bit silly?

Linda, quit giving feminists a bad reputation.

Also, please keep those ideas coming for my contest. The deadline is just over a week away, and I could really use a new logo, tagline, or t-shirt!

I hate rainy summer days. Here in Columbus there are far more outdoor places for kids than indoor places to play. And so, needing to get Cordelia out of the house to run out some energy, we went to the mall.

It was packed, and the play area looked like a science lesson: atoms (kids) racing around at high speeds, occasionally colliding into each other. Pure chaos. My friend Lisa and I turned our two toddlers loose into the fray.

Going to the mall is always a good excuse to people-watch, and sadly I always find people that I shake my head at. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure some of them are just having bad days, and I’ve had my share of bad days when people probably thought I was an awful parent. But there are things I still shake my head at. Today’s examples:

– Moms so wrapped up chatting with their friends about going out drinking the other night that they don’t keep an eye on their kids, as they wander out of the play area, hit other kids, or dig through diaper bags and strollers that don’t belong to them.

– Children who throw food at other kids as they pass by their stroller in a store. And the mom who simply says, “Honey, don’t do that,” as she continues shopping and doesn’t look at the child.

– Kids fishing money out of the mall fountain, pocketing anything larger than a penny and then throwing the pennies back, all while the mom watched. I’m not making this up. The money in that fountain goes to a local charity, and these kids clearly believed they were deserving of charity money. The mom thought it was hilarious. One kid was even counting his loot to see if he had enough to get the toy he wanted at KB Toys (the family already had bags of stuff they bought, so they clearly weren’t too poor to shop).

My kid may throw tantrums in the middle of Bath & Body Works, scream her way through the bookstore, and knock things off the racks as we walk by, but at least she doesn’t act like those kids. And I’m a little scared what these kids will turn into, with parents like that.

I’m nearly recovered from my fall down the stairs last weekend. I was stiff and sore for several days, but luckily there was no permanent damage.

Remember how I said it’s likely my daughter inherited my clumsy trait? I’m now pretty sure it’s true. I was planning to have some professional pics of her taken this week, but now they need to wait. Wednesday she tripped over her own feet (a common experience of her mommy) and fell. But she didn’t just fall – oh no, that would be too easy. She had to fall with style.

As she was falling, she twisted her body so the back of her head hit a wooden piece of furniture. And if that wasn’t enough, she grabbed a metal folding chair on the way down, pulling the chair down with her and smacking her in the forehead as it landed on her. The crying lasted for a half-hour.

A simple fall, that would have resulted in little to no injury, transformed into a fall as injury-laden as possible. The goose-egg that resulted on her head was impressive and blue. My mom didn’t want to take her out in public for fear that people would accuse her of beating the child. Today it’s faded to a purple-blue line at the top of her forehead. At least she heals quickly.

I believe I can now conclude that Cordelia has a future of embarrassing, clumsy moments ahead of her. Poor child. As long as she doesn’t trip over her crossing guard stick in 5th grade and break her arm, she shouldn’t be ridiculed too much. (Oh, the torment I had to live through.) Or maybe she’ll just have a visible bruise on her somewhere in every single school picture.

As for going out in public, I now have that covered:

Daddy does stunts in theatre where he doesn’t get hurt. Mommy does get hurt in her stunts around the house. Maybe I’ll learn to be more like daddy.