Clean dishes just aren’t worth it….

When I was a kid, my mom had this saying framed in our family room:

“Cleaning the house while the children are growing is like shoveling the sidewalk before it stops snowing.”

Can I just say, “Amen”?

Yesterday, I took a few minutes to wash the breakfast dishes while the little ones were occupied.  It went well.   Too well.  Things were unusually calm so I looked around and realized someone was missing.

My boy.

I can’t tell you the feeling of the fear that strikes me whenever I realize I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing.

I called his name and looked around a corner.  He came out of the living room with an “I’m not up to anything” look on his face.  When I asked what he was doing, he said, “Nothing.”

That is NEVER good, y’all.

So I followed the trail of trouble to an indoor beach he had made with one of his older sister’s sand-art creations.  Sand was everywhere.  The living room, the hall, the babies’ room.  Anywhere there was a trash can to aim for there was sand on the floor.

So, I swept it all up then walked into the den to find him seated on the floor, surrounded by his little sisters, the three of them floating in a sea of cheese cracker crumbs.

He was sharing.  There’s that.