Love the smell of Lysol

I don't know how she does it. I run around all weekend, just trying to keep two little girls from impaling themselves -- both Big and Little sister like to wield anything sticklike as a sword, which is actually my fault and probably a blog for another time.
There are days Stephanie comes home to find a clean house with laundry done and dinner on the table.
Then there are the other days.
Something resembling food is probably halfway cooked in the oven, most of the floors are swept and the laundry might be halfway to finding itself in drawers. Things definitely aren't together though.
I have my good days and bad days. Hopefully the good ones are happening more often.
But I can't achieve the consistency that Stephanie does. She has a routine that works, which I can't seem to get into. Here's an example:
I walked in the house today after -- what I like to call "stick a needle in my eye meeting day," when my time was spent moving from one group of people to another while thinking about all the work I had to do -- to the wonderful smell of Lysol.
MMMMahhhh.
The sound of girls playing, wife singing and the cleanest house this side of Martha Stewart's. Not only was it clean, Stephanie had found time to tackle the tough projects in the kitchen and hall closet that we had both been avoiding for months.
To top it off, she even went and did the grocery shopping after supper. I did clean up after the meal, but I must tip my hat to the domestic goddess.