Kid's House

A thought that has run through my brain often in the last seven years is "Wow, my parents had to have a lot of patience to raise me, but was I really THIS bad?" The kids are so active and creative, but a messy trail is always left in their wake. As I was picking up millions of barbie hairs from my bathroom counter, floor, sink, and toilet this morning because the girls played hair salon, the above quote was swimming through my mind. Along with "I just mopped this floor!" and "Can they not once clean up after themselves!" Sure they can, if you stand above them with a bull whip. Jared asked me if Karli or myself would please wipe all the walls and doors, they are all dirty. But it was the kids! Here are some other projects awaiting my elbow grease in the kids' house:
Scrubbing off the remains of stickers all over my fridge.

Taking down lovely decorations in my living room from the kids' playing school.

This is why we run out of toilet paper so fast, the kids play doctor to all the stuffed animals.

And see that hand-carved old-fashioned sink-pump by my grandfather? That handle was broken by hands high enough to reach this (Savanna) and placed in the pitcher like a stirrer or something. That needs gluing.

Last Thursday I walked into Fiora's room and she had spread out all her clothes that were once folded in her dresser all over her floor. I asked her what on earth was she thinking and she said, "I was building my nest mom. Me and Lexi are birds." As President Monson says: "If you are still in the process of raising children, be aware that the tiny fingerprints that show up on almost every newly cleaned surface, the toys scattered about the house, the piles and piles of laundry to be tackled will disappear all too soon and that you will—to your surprise—miss them profoundly." I believe him. I also believe the panic attacks of frustration and episodes of pulling all my faculties of patience into my power will NOT be missed.