I walk in and shut the door, which is immediately opened with the command, “Don’ shut da doah!”

Beanie walks into the room and leans against the tub.

“Do you need to go potty?” I ask.

“No, I dus gonna washt you.”

“I went poopie. Oh iss just a litto one. Iss so beautiful!”

Not because I went to the gym, which I did this morning. No friends, I am sweating because I have been working in my son’s hovel, I mean, room. The saddest thing is his grandmother (paternal) just picked it up Saturday.

I have tried to weed out as much stuff as possible but he still has a lot of books. He is Einstein’s protege, you know, so he is heavy in scientific reading matter, but he also enjoys a good novel. Dude has a lot of books. He and I combined have more than some public libraries. And he is just like me, in that at night he will pull about ten books off his shelf and heap them by his bed. Now no one would expect him to get out of bed to reshelve them before going to sleep, but most humans would hope that, upon rising, he would choose to return them to their proper place. Well, hope away folks. It doesn’t happen.

Today I decided a boy needs limits, especially any boy who shares my proclivities. I weeded out all books that are beneath his age, as well as most of the science and history books. I left him novels, books of stories, comic and joke books. There are still more books than most kids own, period, but it seems managable. I did a hard core vacuum, removed a bookshelf and only need to move his dresser before calling it good.

When we put our house up for sale I went through every room and removed as much as I possibly could. Every night, after getting the kids into bed I ran around the house and picked up things. My sister was visiting for a few days while Paul was overseas. After working fifteen minutes and realizing my house was immaculate, I stopped to marvel, “Is this how people keep things clean, they just don’t have a lot of stuff and pick up after themselves?” My sister nodded gently.

I was filled with wonder.

I need to keep remembering this when I forget it.

The weekend was good, too short, but good. My headache from Friday continued fairly steadily until Sunday afternoon. Wats!, as my favorite legume would say. You know you are a mom of several smallish children when a 48 hour headache does not ruin your weekend. Since I was constantly surrounded by adults and no one needed my assistance in the restroom, I felt pretty fantastic.

Note to self: Get away with the man more often.

Saturday after the worship retreat Paul and I drove to his company fitness center so he could get me a pass card and show me around the place. I am a bit of a (OK, total) gym nerd. They can be so noisy and stinky with painful lighting. Large machinery with the purpose of moving my body I find somewhat alarming. Paul is a bike man, but I wanted to try the elliptical. He stood by and tried to assist me,

Am I doing it right?

I don’t know.

Does it look like I am working?

Yes, you’re working.

Well, it doesn’t feel like it…OH MY! I think I’m dying.

I guess it’s working.

No, it’s killing me! What do you push to stop…

He’s a good man. I decided to walk on the treadmill while he rode the bike. I tortured him with some, How’s my posture? Do you think I am moving very fast? sorts of questions which he kindly answered.

We showered up after, then got a late lunch before doing a little necessary shopping. We finished the day with care group.

……………………………………….

I need to wrap this up as the kids are all holed up in C. Riley’s room. My brain is feeling mushy. I am going to try to pawn these people off on their father.

I have several posts up my sleeve, including a tribute to one of my lucky readers. Yes, touch your hand to your face or chest and wonder, “Could it be me?” You’ll know soon.

Note: This post was written 5ish Monday night but I had trouble posting.

Coming home from church yesterday, Beanie sang from the backseat, “Hoe wee, hoe wee, hoe wee…we cwy, we cwy…hoe wee, hoe wee hoe wee…”