Unanswerable Questions For The Universe

So here's a question for the universe: at what point do children actually see crapobjects on the floor and pick them up?

I really would love an answer to this question. I would be willing to fly eleventy billion hours to Burma, trek into the deepest jungle, climb up the steepest, muddiest, deadliest mountain, and find the smelliest, scariest hermit in his cave if I knew for sure that he could tell me the answer.

I fear that the hermit would only stare deeply into my eyes while shrugging his bony shoulders and say something like "When they are ready."

At which point I would have to violate deep moral codes and international law and throw him off the mountain.

I truly do wonder why it's necessary to peel your dirty socks off of your sweaty feet and then leave them on the floor. Do my children think that this is some sort of love offering to me? You know, once upon a time, my children had small, sweat-free, sweet smelling feet the likes of which I would nuzzle and kiss and nibble. Lo, those days have passed. My children's feet now smell like they have been wading in manure, letting it cure and then giving themselves a foot bath in Gorgonzola and Fritos. And they leave their socks, with the essence of Eau du Foot, all. over. the. place.

And for some reason, it's not just one pair of socks per child, it's like seven. I really believe that I have about 28 pairs of smelly socks in my family room alone. (Mmmm....fragrant! Want to come over for a visit?) Do not get me started on the rest of the house. Or the shoes that they leave on the floor as well.

Is it really so hard to just put them in the mudroom or in their closet? Well, duh! Apparently it is. How stupid of me.

And then there is the matter of the pillows. I have throw pillows on the couches in my family room. I like them. They look nice and they are ever so handy for resting one's head when one is nursing a confusion-induced headache from trying to figure out if Jacob is good or if the man in black is good and just what Charles Widmore is up to when watching LOST.

Why do my offspring think that they are a nuisance and a hindrance? I may have just picked them up or asked them to pick them up for the 973rd time of the day and yet the next time I turn around, the pillows are on the floor and the dumb dog is eyeing them. (When I see the dumb dog looking at the pillows with the wheels turning in her little brain, you can bet your bippee that I remind her from whence she came and tell her that I could easily send her back.) (Do you think that she knows this is an empty threat? My children seem to have figured out that I can't send them back, but they are just slightly more intelligent than the dumb dog.)

And seriously. How many times can people step over the same wrapper, napkin, toy, etc without picking it up?

Oh! Oooh! Ooooh! Wait! I know the answer to this one! The answer is, THERE IS NO ANSWER!! They could do it FORBLOODYEVER and I don't know how to count to infinity.

Can you sense my frustration? Can you see the bruises on my forehead from where I've been banging it up against the brick wall that is my childrens' ear drums?

I would wish summer upon us, bringing with it the days of bare feet and flip flops, but I am not naive. I know that when summer comes it brings with it a whole 'nother set of problems. Things like lost flip flops, splinters and bee stings in bare feet, and popsicle wrappers floating through the yard on the breeze.

Which brings me to yet another question: why does the ice cream truck only come through the neighborhood in the 10 minutes before dinner is on the table?

Never mind. I can't even think about it, it's making my head hurt. I'll just console myself by ordering a bomb pop and retiring to the family room to count stinky footwear.