So I am still recovering from another Family Road Trip. Really, I think it's the unpacking that gets me. And the lack of sleep, while everybody adjusts to Sleeping In Their Own Beds.
I sleep better in my own bed. Certainly that goes for most people? I think it has something to do with not having my pillow or blankets pulled away from me all night. And not being kicked in the head. Yeah, that's a biggie. Oh, and the hot breath in the face (and no, it's not as sweet as baby milkbreath anymore).
But the unpacking seems to go on forever. Maybe because I'm the one folding all the clothes. And re-folding. Day after day after day.
It was a couple days after our return that I sat down and committed to relieving the overflow in my email. Over one hundred (not including the junk). Took some time, and some concentration. So while the boys wrestled on the floor behind my chair, I skimmed, filed, read and sometimes even replied.
I was deep into the project when the little guy decided he needed to get dressed. He certainly can dress himself, but can he pick out his own clothes? Of course he can! He has very definite tastes, particularly anything that belongs to the big guy. And I had recently organized their bureaus to make dressing easier for them to do independently (and crossed that off my To-Do list!). Unfortunately, big brother was in no mood to help little brother to Find the Perfect Shirt. Yep ... told him to go find it himself.
Looking back, I really should've just nipped it in the bud. Especially the first time he came downstairs saying he couldn't find the shirt he wanted. Maybe even if I had acknowledged the second request for help, I may have averted disaster. But no, I was BUSY. And I assured myself that the drawers were neatly arranged and ANYBODY could find what they needed up there. In That Room.
Not only did he empty ALL of the drawers in BOTH bureaus, making sure each and every neatly folded item was shaken out and tossed about the room so as to completely cover every square inch of floorspace ... he also searched (meaning emptied) every nook and cranny, every cubby and basket, every toy box. And they have WAY TOO MANY toys. The evidence is spread out for all to see.
I can demand that he clean up his mess till I die, we all know that's not going to happen. Besides, everybody knows that Boys Can't Fold Clothes. I tell them to wear what they find on the floor. Eventually, through the miracle of Laundry, it will all find it's way back to its rightful spot. Or else they'll grow out of it.
And what have I learned from this? Big guy has at least seven Spiderman shirts. At least that's how many we've found so far ...