Toast, Milk, Messes & Locks

Woke up this morning to a dishwasher full of clean dishes, a sink full of dirty dishes and a husband who had the wild desire to make breakfast.

I love my husband, but when he makes breakfast it equals a mess for me. He makes messes but rarely cleans them up. Then, he is confused when I refer to him as a "mess." He is. He's just a mess.

There is a long list of words I cannot use to describe my husband: neat, orderly, talkative, adult, mature...

My husband made scrambled eggs with cheese and toast. He even remembered to feed the kids. That he remembered we have kids here is sometimes amazing. I guess the fact that he was taking Dillon to the goose pit today helped him remember that there are short people living here with us.

I wasn't hungry yet, so I did not eat. Instead I did my waitress routine: wash dishes, dry dishes, put dishes away, wipe up toast sweat and toast crumbs. I wiped down the clean butter dish because when Birdy gets ahold of the butter dish, it always looks like the butter exploded on that section of the counter.

Dillon's munching away on his breakfast when he poses this question to Dustin, "What do you put in a toaster?"

Dustin responds with, "Toast."

We all had a chuckle over that one, including Dustin.

Drying dishes, I asked, "Dustin, what do cows drink?"

Dustin answers, "Milk."

We chuckled again, bless his little heart. "No, cows make milk, buddy, they drink water."

I told both boys to pick up their end of the house before Dillon left for hunting. This did not happen. I am sure to find a wet towel hung on the floor, GameBoy games scattered everywhere and one unmade bed. Dustin still hadn't hung up his coat. So, as I'm drying yet more dishes while simultaneously putting away the dishwasher and organizing kitchen drawers, I holler out again for the boys to pick up their rooms.

I glance down at Dustin's room, where I see him seated at his desk, wearing his winter coat.

Dustin's room is the hottest room in the house. It's a northwest bedroom, how this happens, I do not know. I wish my husband had insulated the rest of our house as well has he insulated that child's bedroom. If he had, we could all run around the house naked.

Not that we'd want to, mind you. But just the same, we could.

I mention to Birdy that rather than hang the coat up, Dustin prefers to just wear it.

He shakes his head. This comes as no shock to either of us. Then, Dillon announces that he'll just go ahead and vacuum his bedroom when he gets home because they need to leave. I tell him that this is laughable. This statement confuses Dillon.

Birdy chuckles.

The boys leave and I am alone in the house with Dustin. He comes running to my office and announces, "My phone is locked and I can't remember the code."

He caught Dillon in his cell phone last night, cruising texts. This apparently angered Dustin enough to lock Dillon out of his phone. Unfortunately, it backfired on him.

This comes as no suprise to me. I tried Dustin's birthdate in the phone and that did not work. I started to laugh. His brain is so my side of the family, it's frightening. He may look like a shorter version of his father, but his brain is wired just like my father's.

Poor Dusty. Poor, poor Dusty. Just like little Dickie.

"Well, leave it alone for a few minutes & maybe the code will come to you," I laughed.

"You might think it's funny, Mom, but I don't!" and he stormed away.

Oh, honey, learn to laugh at it, now...it'll help you cope throughout life.

Trust me.