The other day, I was doing some spring cleaning. Specifically, running the floor scrubber over my kitchen and play room floors. I task I detest. And I admit freely that since my mother's death in November, I have not been cleaning as much as I should. I now know the importance of spending loving hours with each other. Life is just so short and all that.
Lastborn calls down the stairs.
Are we having friends over?
Me: Yes. Why? Because I'm cleaning?
Lastborn: Ya.
Thinking, "What a clever fellow," I continue on with my home upheaval. Later, we bring firstborn back from school. He enters the house, drops his books and says:
"Are we having a playdate?"
It's not that they're clever, it's that I'm a slob.
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