The Frat House

Over the past few weeks, I've watched my home descend into a fog of testosterone. It seems that when I'm laid up in bed, the males I live with revert to their most basic natures. It has shown me the desperate need that boys have to be pointed in the right direction.

My husband, whom I am eternally grateful for, has done his best to keep up with the housework. He has stayed on top of the dishes and laundry surprisingly well. But at the same time, he's not a woman. (Hence his appeal to me.) When he does the dishes, he doesn't think to sweep the floor and wash the table too. When putting in laundry, it doesn't occur to him to tackle the pile of clothes that's been on our floor since the first day morning sickness set in. He goes for the "obvious" problems. Meanwhile, mail, dog hair, and toys have taken over our existence.

But he is by far the most civilized male in residence here. My boys have been great since I've been sick. They've morphed into best buds in my absence, playing together happily all day. But they've also spent most of the last month in mismatching pajamas or, more likely, just underwear. Thing Two especially has decided clothing is optional. Even when it's 7 degrees outside. There's also an endless stream of cartoon superheroes on the TV screen, blasting and flying and yelling in manly voices to the villains. Bathing is a rare occurrence, and only happens when I muster the energy to chase their smelly little unclothed bodies into the shower, where they proceed to hoot and holler and make a mess.

So, for awhile there, it was a good thing I spent most of my time in bed. Because looking at the state of my house and the little males I'm responsible for would have made me throw up even more.

They don't know it yet, but I'm starting to feel better.

Mwahahaha.

I say another week, and I'll be the dorm mother from Hades. No more nudity. No more filth. No more testosterone oozing cartoons.

They'll no longer be able to jump from their beds onto the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. No longer will they get away with only bathing before church services. Haircuts will return. Teeth will be brushed. Homeschool will start up again. Pizza rolls will not be an acceptable main course at dinner. Scented candles will be lit, laundry hampers will be enforced, and wild burping will stop at the dinner table.

And the poor dog is going to hate that I start sweeping the kitchen floor again.

This sleeping giant is about to roar again. And I'm gonna take this house back.

Thing Two, prepare to put your pants on.