Stinkin' kids
A note to myself: to be read Fall of 2009

No, I do not know why there were post-its in the bathroom.

Tonight Clay and I were watching the VP debate when we heard gales of laughter from downstairs. Seriously, the joy and glee wafting up from downstairs, it was as though our basement contained the entire anti-election season. Clay and I raised an eyebrow at each other, then returned our attention to the battle on screen. Sometimes I don't know what's wrong with us.

We didn't have to wait long to find out what was up, because a few minutes later Max came upstairs, damp and stringy-haired from the bath. He had yanked on his pajama bottoms, and was grinning.

"I got out of the bath? and I forgot my jammies? So I used this instead." He produced a...fig leaf of sorts, manufactured out of four yellow sticky notes, slapped it in place on the front of his pajamas, and dissolved into giggles again. Clay and I again exchanged looks, this time more of the "don't you DARE laugh" variety.

"Honey?" I ventured, "why didn't you just wrap your towel around yourself?"

"Because it was all wet and cold...and besides, THIS is funny!"

And for once, in an evening filled with impassioned statements, I could not argue.



Ah-ha! So that is where all my post-it notes go. They are in your boys' bathroom. And here I thought the post-it note fairy kept getting hungry.


Thank God there were no papercuts.

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