What the #&@*%^???!!!

If I were a profane person, it would have been plainly manifest this morning.

Due to crazy and confusing events (and pregnancy hormones, I'm sure), we now have 6 four-week-old kittens loose in the laundry room. They stopped staying in the laundry basket and last night I put a pan of kitty litter out for them. I'm getting a little tired of shaking out and then washing poopy towels.

This morning, we all (minus Rebekah) witnessed the first two kitties figure out the purpose of the box. It was a joyous event...for me, especially. One of them missed the box (just like a kid, I suppose) and I sent Nathan for a tissue to clean it up off the floor. I had already gotten after the kids for the amount of litter scattered on the floor and in the water dish nearby. That's when it was "clean."

When I came out from my shower minutes later, I found my 9-year-old, side-by-side with my 20-month-old, playing in the now "dirty" litter box. Joseph had his hand buried in it! Leah and Nathan were sitting nearby. I obviously started yelling. Daniel reluctantly withdrew his digging tool, but left Joseph playing in the stuff right next to him. More yelling.

What the @$*^#? We DO have a sand box outside. They don't play in that. Of all the things to choose to play in, let's all choose the litter box. If we aren't already suffering from brain damage, we're bound to find a way to lose some grey matter before the day is out. Maybe it will be from the big smack to the head that mom will probably give us.

I may not have to worry about college tuitions...they'll all be dead by 16. Or I'll be in jail and living off the state.