They had a tour of mansions in Waverly that cost $25 a person…and one of the mansions people could go through was named, “The House of Tranquility,” by the owners. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? I want to go on the tour of that house and look for two things. Do they either have children, or pets? That’s all I want to see. How are they pulling off a house of tranquility if they have either of these two in the house, or both? I’ll put money on it there’s nobody in the house of tranquility that’s going through their terrible two’s, or potty training. I bet they don’t have emotional teenagers. I would pay to see a house of tranquility through all the teen years. I remember one time when my doctor asked what ages my kids are, he said the best advice he can give parents of teenagers is to just survive it. I wasn’t even complaining; he just shook his head, looked at me with sympathy and offered that advice. Anybody could have a tranquil house if a masseuse resides there…or a chef, maid, or on-site Uber driver for errands and running multiple kids to multiple commitments. They must have surround sound “sounds of the ocean” playing all the time and a nice waterfall in the corner, an infinity pool outside next to a massive, beautiful flower garden. At my house I don’t even know what perennials the previous owner planted where, so my flower garden is like a mysterious, sad excuse for what should be a beautiful garden. Instead we say, “Oh look, one flower bloomed in that whole 8-foot section and it lasted for a week and a half and quickly died. How tranquil. I could sit and stare at this lifeless garden for hours.” To combat the fact that the perennials are quitters I have to spend an arm and a leg on annuals if I want flowers. You better hope everyone in your household gets along too, or that would be an awkward tour. But I would like to know how many Americans say they live in a “House of Chaos?” I bet there’d be a lot of takers for that. That’s the tour I want to see; how parents in the trenches are surviving. When the kids were little, mine could have been called the “House of wall to wall toys, Pokemon cards, Nascar Cars, legos, and playdoh.” Good luck stepping on legos, tour goers! Sometimes it was the “House of Microwave Dinners” because we had games every night. Right now, mine could also be called a house of homework because there’s nonstop papers and work to do with deadlines. It’s also the house where a small dog acts like he’s got ADHD that there’s no medicine for. Do the owners of the “House of Tranquility” have a dog with ADHD? I want to see that. What would your home be called right now if someone paid $25 to tour it?