The Glory of Housewifery

I have flour between my toes. I have flour between my toes and in the folds of my jeans. Between my toes, in the folds of my jeans, in my hair, under my nails, and enmeshed in the knit of my sweater. The dogs are covered in it--their chops a gooey mess of gob-soaked dust turned to glue and their fur a sprinkled mass of...Oh. No problem. They've shaken it all out now. (sigh)And the kids have walked through it, scattering it throughout the house--in the couches, over the carpets, dusting every visible surface.

I have flour between my toes.

All I was trying to do was yank the sack out of the pantry to set up a Science experiment (and a cool one at that ~~ all about Mercury and its' craters). But I tugged too hard on the topmost parts thereby removing the uppermost from the bottommost and leaving a ten kilogram bag of Robin Hood flour torn tidily in two. Right into the recycling bin. I use the term "bin" loosely. It is, in fact, a recycling heap. A mound. A mishmash of everything from cardboard to plastic bags to pickle jars. (sigh)

Fortunately, I have kids and dogs ready at the bat to aid in the "clean-up." The dogs should be fine without food for a week. The boys? Well. They're just glad it was me doing the spilling and gleefully gave me permission to swear ~~ as long as I did it in German.

It's up my nose (the flour) and coating the inside of my mouth. I seem to have developed a twitch in my left eye, but that is, possibly, unrelated. (sigh)

I'll be doing a lot of baking this afternoon. Most of the white fluff has been cleanly recovered and will be transformed into zuccini cake and cinnamon buns (I'm not so easily defeated, Robin Hood!), but first I think I'll go vacuum out my socks.