....i get home from work, chase my three-year-old around the car,
then hold her tightly by the collar of her coat while i fumble with
my keys and unlock the door, when lo and behold Martha (Counting the
days) is waiting for me! Martha was NOT very happy with me.

First, upon arrival to my home she notices my handmade, crooked,
crosstich plaque that says "Marth Stewart does NOT live here."

Then she notices that my daughter's toys are found in the living
room, along with the homemade "round-n-round" (a heavy duty round
clothes basked attached to a lazy-susan mechanism that my husband
made for my daughter. they LOVE to play with it...but does it HAVE
to stay in the living room?), in addition to toys in the downstairs
family room AND in my daughter's room.

Poor Martha couldn't decide where to sit since the old formica
dining table I have is surrounded by 4 old, squeaky, oak chairs, one
of which has a split bottom (we keep it in the corner where no one
would sit anyway). I mean how could I match a metal/formica table
with WOODEN chairs? Martha was dumbfounded. The flooring in the
kitchen is the original floor installed in 1986 and is in bad need
of replacement, but I try to explain to her that I am the primary
provider for the family, we have two car payments, daycare, . . . .
then I notice that she's not listening. Oh well.

Dinner was a total disaster. Tuesday is "free-for-all" dinner at my
house. You can eat whatever you want as long as it's nutritious.
Maggie had yogurt, peanut butter and jelly, and raisins with juice.
I planned to have a simple pasta and veggie mix that I invented
while in college. Martha wasn't pleased that I didn't plan 2 days
ahead and prepare a luscious leg of lamb or Portuguese pot roast!
She settled for a bowl of Cheerios and an apple with a glass of
milk. My husband came in around 7 and finished off the tuna
casserole from the refrigerator with a boiled egg, saltine crackers
and a pop.

The rest of the night I didn't see Martha since I was busy with
kitchen cleaning, clothes, and attending to my daughter (bath, brush
teeth, quiet time, book time, bed time).

When I woke up this morning Martha was packed and sitting on her
suitcase next to the front door. She had called a limosine to pick
her up. By the time I had finished getting myself dressed, fed the
dogs, and got my daughter up and dressed, Martha was gone. Guess
middle-class living isn't a "GOOD THING" in Martha's book.