No room is sacred. I challenge anyone to take 10 steps in my house and not step on either a bullet, a fridge magnet or a dinosaur. It’s the jungle, baby!
I have not yet figured out the intrigue but every lid is always taken off of every bottle and once separate, the two will surely never see each other again. More than that, once the lid is removed, it seems that the need to smash the bottle into a smaller version of itself, takes over like a primal urge to dominate and destroy, something innate to the male gender, perhaps?
Toilet paper is another endlessly fascinating household product, with unfathomable messy uses. It must be unrolled, until there is no more to unroll, making sure that about each three hundredth piece is dotted with at least one bodily fluid. Then a portion of the spoils must be ripped into tiny pieces and distributed around the house, like kisses rained down on us all, from the bathroom. Confetti, celebrating the marriage of boy and shred able tissue paper.
It seems tiny sharp things are always underfoot. Just so you know, Lego is really sharp. So is old food. Which despite insistences on being eaten at tables, always manages to be found in every other room. Dollops of butter on the floor, half chewed toast between the sheets. I once had to confess to infidelity with a blueberry. It was very messy.
Clothes are left wherever it is they ceased to be relevant to the wearer. Underpants and pyjamas are the most common culprits. I would say socks too but we’ve spoken about them and as mentioned before, only ever one at a time.
Beds never have any of their blankets or pillows on them. Either they have been scavenged for forts or tents, or they were casualties of a rough and tumble. The couch pillows suffer the same fate, constantly scattered all over the house. They are also useful to toss at a brother, just because he is there.
I constantly crave, just one room that doesn’t look like a tornado in triplicate has ravaged it’s order. I often dream that room will be mine, so that I could, in moments of overwhelming boydom, lie down for a while. If you’ve ever walked into my bedroom, you will realise how ridiculous this is. Books, toys, artwork, dress ups, guns, clothes and shoes are always strongly represented. A flurry of boy related activity can usually be seen too, apparently no room in the house is more exciting or ripe for messing up, than mine. No rest for the wicked, as they say.