Please update all links and bookmarks to Simply Shenuts, also known as the Love Child of “Sarcastic Journalist” and “The Simple Family.”

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Sometimes, I find I have conflicting ideas when it comes to “simple living.” Or, should I just say “conflicting desires?” Usually I’m okay with my choices, happy even, but then we’ll go somewhere and I’ll get to wistful thinking. You know, “if only I had a bigger, nicer house with a game room and 10 bedrooms…then I wouldn’t have to listen to my children fight over who hit who first.”

Then I remember the mortgages and I get brought down to earth, pronto.

Almost within the same breath as wanting a McMortgaged Mansion, I’ll convince myself we can downsize. Three bedrooms are too many! We could live in a tent! All of us in a cozy little tent in someone’s backyard. They do it at Ikea, don’t they? Live in 100 square foot places decorated to the nines? Sure the chairs fall apart if you sit on them, but don’t they just look GREAT?

Hey, I’ve got an idea! Let’s live in an Ikea showroom!

We’ve finally gotten our sleeping arrangements at my in-laws down to a pat. We have one queen size bed and one queen size blow-up mattress in our room. One kid and one adult in each. We fight over who gets what kid, considering the girl one sleeps soundly and the boy one likes to lay on your head like a cat.

Just as I was going to sleep last night, I thought, “we could live in a one bedroom. We could do this. Sure, I’d never sleep in the same bed as my husband but we’re asleep anyway!”

Usually, when I wake up, the pre-sleep crazy thoughts I have seem to feel a bit crazy. (Remind me never to make important decisions at bedtime. There’s a chance I’d agree to cutting off all my toes and replacing them with firecrackers because, toes, who needs them.)

But this morning, I woke up to two smiling children. One on the bed and one laying on the floor, sick with a fever and tummyache (ON HER BIRTHDAY!) next to me.

Then as I lay in bed full of the intoxicating morning haze, I began to get seranaded to the tune of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

Booby booby booby poop

Booby booby booby poop

Let me tell you, waking up to my own perverted chorus is much better than a good night sleep anytime.