The disaster that is the Little Green House

My mother-in-law -- my dear, compassionate, generous mother-in-law -- just left town after a 10-day visit. As always, it was great. I took her to Powell's and let her buy me books. She made me chicken soup. We went up to Mount Hood and played in the snow. We played lots of Boggle, always a key to any successful visit.

And yet . . . It's so nice to have the house back. Mostly because my dear, sweet, loyal, brilliant mother-in-law is a tiny tornado of a woman. Like a serious wind, she carries things in her wake: New York Times Magazines from 1992, half-knitted scarves, random bottles of moisturizer, pomegranate juice, gelatin for her nails, the lonely, lost skins from long-forgotten grapefruits, foot powder, nail files, small stuffed animals that she forgot to give to TheBoy.

Oh, and takeout food containers. Lots of them. Here's a sample of the damage: