Emily Armijos

Robin_Margeaux

Our apartment isn’t huge. It’s 700 square feet, roughly, so, with two kids plus a dog, it feels much smaller. The living room is a chaotic assortment of furniture, baby toys, Barbie dolls, crumbles of dried out play dough, junk mail, bills and shoes that no one wants to put away, no matter how simple I make it for them. Just about daily, I use a selection of expletives to inquire with each and every one of my family members how hard it is to wash a spoon. Or a cereal bowl. Or to take their dirty garments just six inches further, and into the actual hamper rather than scattered within short proximity of it.