"There Goes My F-in' Parsley," or The Story Of Why We Can't Have Nice Things

In the past three days I have had 2/3 of my newly-planted herb garden uprooted, discovered a large tear in the chair cushion upholstery, had a load of laundry decorated with yellow wax from a crayon the twins thoughtfully added to the dryer, and found a trail of red paint running down the side of the house from a certain little boy's window. I have given up on keeping anything presentable, because I have my own in-house demolition team hell-bent on destroying everything in sight.
Matt makes fun of me because I'm cheap. I pay as little for stuff as I possibly can and he says that I buy "disposable" clothes, furniture, etc. It's not that I don't appreciate quality- I do, but I have accepted the fact that pretty much everything I own is going to be broken, stained, ruined or ripped, so why pay more?
We bought new furniture for the den a year ago. I bought a dark brown sofa and chair cheap as hell. Was it great quality stuff that would last forever? No. Was it in a color that I really loved? No. But since Will has dumped a bottle of chocolate syrup on the couch and made himself vomit on it in the past month, I'm quite glad that it hides a multitude of stains and that I didn't pay much for it.
My clothes petty much consist of a rainbow of cheap t-shirts and yoga pants from Walmart. I occasionally upgrade to Target- or when I'm feeling really fancy, Kohl's, but most of my stuff didn't cost more than $10. It's not that I don't care about my appearance, or that I enjoy being a sloppy hausfrau. It's just that I've given up. No matter what I wear, by the end of the day it's covered in a Rorschach pattern of stains- some dirt here, jelly there, a smattering of spaghetti sauce, perhaps a little snot or blood- so what the heck is the point of wearing anything nicer than a $5 t-shirt?
Sometimes I grab on to a small shred of hope that I can keep something intact- hence the herb garden I planted a few days ago. I had big dreams of pots of beautiful, fragrant herbs, but they will remain dreams if the twins have anything to do with it. The just can't understand why mommy seems so unhappy when they try to re-plant the rosemary upside down, pull out handfuls of chives, rip the thyme out by the roots, or just upend an entire pot of parsley. And all I can muster is a tired, "Well, there goes my f*&kin' parsley............"
Someday, I'll have decent stuff, pretty clothes, furniture in a color other than mud, a table that's not covered in marker and scratches. But until then, I'm going to embrace the chaos as much as possible. Not sweat the small stuff, ya' know? I figure it beats fighting a losing battle on a dailey (hourly) basis!