Here is Tate systematically droppin Cheerios off of his tray onto the floor. Eat one, drop one, eat one, drop one.
Very regularly, everyone has to change clothes after meal time. (Sidenote: as previously mentioned, we don't have a dryer.)
I absolutely HATE meal times with our kids right now. It is so messy. SO MESSY. I can't stand it. I love having my house perfectly clean. I had accepted this would not be the case while my kids were young, however, I find sticky stuff on the walls and I find green beans on the floor when I haven't served them in three days and I just can't stand it, I CAN'T STAND IT. (Please no comments about how it is only going to get worse. The Lord gives us what we can handle and you don't have the right to override his authority on this one.) Despite the skin crawling feeling I now get at the dinner table, I do love that my children are becoming more self sufficient and I marvel at the fact that one year ago I had to hold their neck but now they can hold their own cup… even if they do usually throw it across the room.
This is one of my husband’s drawers. He just cleaned it out because I asked him to about a week ago. As previously mentioned, I like things tidy. I cannot stand disorganization in my home. (I don’t care about your house; if I come over and it is a wreck I do not judge just don’t ask me to help you find your keys. If you ask me to help you organize I will probably get really excited and jump up and down but that is just because I am a crazy person that thinks throwing stuff away is fun.) My husband is probably the most disorganized person I know. I find it really frustrating because his mind is so organized whereas I find myself scattered a lot and I can’t understand why such an organized mind can’t translate organized thoughts to an organized storage closet. I have never really fought Trey on the drawer thing and the reason is: the day of my father’s funeral I went home to my mom’s house and systematically opened every drawer that belonged to my father taking a mental picture of each one. They were totally disorganized and contained every scrap of paper, gum wrapper or free t-shirt my mother hadn’t been able to trash before he stashed it away. I loved those drawers. I saw my father in them. To this day, when I look in Trey’s drawers I remember my Daddy and I love that Trey unknowingly gives me that reminder.