Not long ago, I mentioned to my kids that I was finished picking up their stuff. I told them that they are responsible for putting their things back where they belong. Let’s see how that’s working for me. Shall we?

Here’s a beachball, in my kitchen.

Here’s a random flip-flop, nowhere near it’s mate. Instead it’s tossed next to the sub-woofer in the living room. Let me clarify. That would be the chipped and dented sub-woofer that took a beating from the ride-on toy phase.

This is my dining room, which contains one pair of dirty socks…

…not one, but TWO soccer balls…

…and an empty cardboard box, which was not allowed to be recycled because my daughter wanted, needed, had to have it, to use as a kennel for her zillion stuffed dogs.

Can you believe how well they listen? Oh wait, they don’t.

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My six year old son climbed up on my lap and asked, “Mom, why did God make me, and why did He make you, and why did He put me here?”

I said, “Well, God made you to be my son, and He made me to be your mother. And, He must love me very much because I sure am lucky to have you. I wouldn’t want any other little boy in the whole world to be mine.”

He replied, “Oh…but, can I get another Mom?”

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