I had some free time today, so after dusting our bedroom, and washing sheets, and moving the bed to vacuum underneath it, and cleaning the sewing room, and vacuuming the upstairs hallway, I decided to organize the half of the living room that we now call the toy box. The toys have been way out of control lately, because we do not generally allow half the living room to be the toy box. The toys should be in their respective boxes, on shelves, and in bins. I try to be organized up in here, yo.
Oh, what's that? You don't spend your free time cleaning? Well, there was a day that I didn't do that, either. But it turns out, if you have no free time at all, the housework doesn't do itself. And weirdly, nobody else will do it, either. I ask (beg) for help from the family, and while dinner gets put away and dishes get washed and toys get picked up, nobody else will wipe counters, or mop the floor, or scrub toilets. The state of our house has eclipsed ThreatCon Level TIME TO PANIC. I'm shocked that we weren't eaten by DBOUS's while we slept. (Dust Bunnies Of Unusual Size) But they're all dead now, because my Dyson rocks. Yes, I'm a DBOUS killer, and I make no apologies for it. If PETA has a problem with that, they can have my DBOUS's. We all know how rabbits reproduce, so I'll wish them luck in controlling the population until they can be re-homed.
As I was organizing the toy bin, the boys walked in from school. This is never good, because when they see what I toss into the trash can, inevitably half of it gets drug right back out. I was trying to organize things into respective bins, and Micah decided to help. Win! Except his method of organizing was vastly different than mine. Mine was something along the line of All Cars, All Guns, All Action Figures, Balls, Nerf Darts. Micah's was decidedly Things I Want To Play With Right Now, Things I Don't. And then Micah found a sling shot.
Can I insert here that it's obvious that we have boys? Heh.
Micah held up his sling shot, pulled back the band, and said, "Mom! Watch!" And that's when I realized that speech was definitely going to happen for the boy. I knew it would, because I'm his mom, and nobody believes in a kid like his mother does. (Sorry, dads, it's just the way it is). But sometimes there's doubt that I never, ever, ever let anyone see. Because I'm a mom. But this afternoon, I think about anyone could have understood what was said, even though it was more like, "Gom, atch!" But he's talking! For so many years, he didn't do more than grunting and droning, but this is his year. This year, Micah is talking. And it's going to be the best year EVER.