Don't Judge Me for Being a Slob.
The third installment in my series on moving... Ask my husband or my college roommates and they’ll tell you--I’m neither a neatnik nor a clean freak. I often toss my clothes on a chair instead of hanging them in the closet and I generally iron on an as-needed basis. I don’t always make the bed (although I’m happy to rearrange the pillows after my husband does). I’ve probably done my kids a terrible disservice by not insisting on made-up beds before leaving the house in the morning. Please don’t judge me… I remember the battles with my parents to pick up my room. I did a great job shoving things under the bed or behind the closet door, despite my dad’s credo: “A place for everything and everything in its place.” Anything to retain TV privileges or get the car keys. My dad was a great one for sayings. He had a million of them and half were in Latin, like our family motto: Spectemur Agendo . Translation: “Let us be judged by our deeds” . There’s that word: Judge . May I ...