Grandma's house minus 4?

Off to Disney! (photo by Amber Paul)

Well, here I am on the second post for the blog about living with my grand-kids and they're not here. They're off on a vacation to Disney World and New Orleans with their other grandma. I was looking forward to the break, but good gosh, I miss them.

It's a good thing there are still remnants of their habitation everywhere.

I would hate to go a day without having to pick up after them. That would be so sad. Can you see my eyes rolling into the back of my head? So, guess how I'm spending the day after my work is done?

I'm cleaning their rooms.

Ya, I know. I always say, don't do it. Let them do it, so they learn. That's my theory. Unfortunately, the reality is, they are not here. The rooms are a mess. I can't stand looking at them and I'm a bit of a neat freak, albeit a casual one.

So, not only am I cleaning their rooms, I'm making some changes.

The one room they use is unfinished.

It's in the basement. It used to be storage. I don't like them sleeping down there. It's clean, but the cement floor creeps me out. What if they fall out of bed and hit their heads? Plus, it's kind of dusty and 2 of them have asthma, so it's not a great place for a bedroom. That will be their living room/rec room.

Bonus: I never go down there. They will like that. Plus, I won't have to see the mess unless I want to, for who knows what reason. Win/win!

The former office is their other room.

It's upstairs, finished and dust free. So, I'm thinking, that's a good spot for all their beds. Hey, it's OK. They are here temporarily. They'll get their own rooms soon enough. That will happen either when my other daughter moves out of her two rooms (she has the finished half of the basement because she was here first) or when their mom gets a place.

Meanwhile, grandma is not vacationing at a posh, Florida hotel on the beach.

I better get my writing done so I can have at this project. You know kids. Once they come back, I will not have this golden window of opportunity to make their rooms liveable without their sweet little voices echoing things like, “Don't touch my stuff! I'll do it! I said I would! We don't want them in our room, eww! Why can't we sleep downstairs?” etc. etc. Blah, blah, blah.

To which I mentally reply, “Na-na Na-na Boo-boo, you're not here! I can do whatever I want, so there!”

I think they're rubbing off on me.