Perfection

I have a problem with perfection. I always want things to be perfect... and they never are.
Enough said.
My lovely sister is visiting my parents in Paradise (Avon) for about a month this summer. She happily volunteered to keep my children in Paradise (Avon) for a few days. Bless her little heart. And bless my mother's heart, too, because it is her house that will suffer the consequences. So my lovely little monkeys have been gone for a full week now. At first the silence was enjoyable, then strange, then eerily strange, and now the silence is annoying.
Everything seems to be perfect. All the beds are made, all the laundry is DONE, the dishes are clean, the toilet is clean, the floors are swept / mopped, the carpet has been vacuumed, and there are no traces of messy hands anywhere. So it appears to be perfect. (Someone PLEASE stop by unannounced for once while the house looks this good!!!)
J.R. and I have enjoyed some much-needed alone time together, and it has been great, but I miss them terribly! Is all the perfection in this house worth the loneliness? Not hardly. I think I'll take the messes and enjoy them from now on.