Can't. Keep. The. House. Clean.
I woke up this morning and decided that whatever plans I had needed to be forsaken for the sake of cleaning the house. First step? Putting away all the dang matchbox cars. The damn cars are everywhere, rolling away when you least expect it - at 5am, in the semi-dark - and some of them are creepy enough to even make noise. So, I collected the ones I could see (and, yes, there's at least 5 more unseen for every one you see)and unceremoniously threw them in the "car box".
"Dooba? Dooba?"I hear, coming from behind me.
"Hey!" with excitement as he realizes that all of his little cars are in one place. Before I could return with the hard-paged books that have swarmed my house, the car box is emptied.
HIGHCHAIR TIME! Of course, that's my solution to the go-behind-Mommy-and-make-a-mess events. Of course, I am deluded enough to think it'll work. Of course it doesn't.
Little boys in highchairs eating baked goldfish should not be a problem... in theory. But, of course, this child discovers that EVERYTHING can be thrown off the tray and does so. I can't be mad at him for cleaning his tray. And I wasn't. Until I saw the school of tiny, baked goldfish on my newly vaccuumed floor!
When the heck is nap time?!?!
