Welcome to my home

What house and home look like after losing a baby to stillbirth, whilst dealing with thyroid cancer, whilst facing a grandparent's death:

Huge black plastic garbage bags filled with clean laundry done by my mother. Bits of chewed up plastic left by the yet-to-be-trained puppy. Dirty clothes littering the floor. of. every. room. A foyer with one huge paint sample stripe covering the length of the stairs. The smell of random markings laid down by the yet-to-be-trained, yet-to-be-fixed puppy. An ugly maroon and gold '50's-era tiled linoleum in my kids' room, exposed after pulling up the puppy-marked carpet. Hardwood floors covered in dirt and gravel, tracked in by aforementioned puppy. Closets, cupboards, countertops, tables, and shelves crammed with mail, prescriptions, cards, to-do-lists, artwork, pictures, small toys, DVD's, books, and magazines. A one-car-garage filled with toys, bikes, garden supplies, old carpet, and pretty much anything but our van. A dent in the van's side panel, a reminder of the day I tried kicking ice off the van and perhaps got a little carried away by my aggression. A backyard littered with more chewed up plastic crap and random toys. A leather couch and several other pieces of furniture chewed up by -- you guessed it, aforementioned puppy. Aluminum siding in desperate need of repainting or replacement. Black shutters dimpled by hail. A leaking roof. Holes in my living room ceiling, drilled by me when the roof initially leaked.

The list is incomplete. I filtered it a bit so you'll still be my friend. Who would want to come to a house like this?