I woke this morning to the sound of the clothes dryer flopping a belt around and round. Rolled over. 5:26 a.m. What the….I stuck my head out the bedroom door to find Mya folding laundry on the couch.
“It’s five in the frickin’ morning…what the heck are you doing?”
“Laundry,” she said, as if it were obvious.
I gave her the mom-death-ray look and went back to bed. Two hours later when I woke the rest of the kids, I opened Billy’s bedroom door to find his concrete floor was glowing white. I squinted, wondering if he’d mopped.
“What the heck did you do?”
“I painted,” he said, as if it were obvious.
He’d painted. Sometime between ten o’clock last night and seven this morning, Billy had painted his entire bedroom floor with fresh white paint. Huh.
I also discovered that since sending the kids to bed the night before someone had swept and mopped. Mya had organized her seashell collection in neat lines and she’s also sorted the crayons and pens into separate containers.
And I don’t know if her dollhouse looked like this before…but…
Anyone else find themselves wishing their children were LESS obsessively organized? Or maybe I should just go into the basement less often.
