love and dirty underwear

We had yesterday what my sister calls a "Saturday is a Special Day".  This is a really a fluffy was of saying "I worked my rump of all yesterday cleaning". 

Sheets were changed, floors were mopped, toilets were scrubbed and I even gave Carter the mundane jobs of dusting off the trim and clorox wiping the light switches. (Carter's jobs were mostly to keep him busy.  He can't do bigger jobs like Andrew, but Carter still need to learn to work.  Colby just stayed out of my hair and that was good enough for me.)  By 3:30 pm, the house was sparkling, smelled like pinesol and bleach, and there was even a batch of peanut butter cookies coming out of the oven.  I was doing my best June Cleaver impression - minus the apron and swishy skirt...I clean in a holey pair of old pjs.

Tonight as I'm getting ready for bed, I'm noticing that the house is truly a post tornado disaster area again. Why people...why?  For a moment I had the fleeting thought as I stepped over dirty church clothes still on the floor from the after church strip session in the boys' room..."I should just think of all these clothes and toys on the floor as reminders of how much my kids love me."  Uh...no...scratch that silly sappy nonsense.  That would just give the kids more fuel to leave all their crap on the floor.   Can't you just hear it?  "Mom...didn't you know that my dirty undies mean I love you?"

I need a maid.

Bad.

And just because my dirty rotten kids make me laugh..

Colby:  Mom, I didn't have any dreams last night.  They all went away.

Me:  They did?  Where did they go?

Colby:  Um...I think all my dreams went up to Jesus.

Carter- post tooting in the kitchen and then laughing hysterically about it:  Hey Mom, I ran to my room earlier and every time I took a step I went like this....fftt.. fftt...fffft.
(Would someone please explain to me why little boys think spontaneous body noises are so dang funny?)