I have learned...

...some hard truths lately.

When the weather cools off like it has this weekend, and gets you thinking of fall, of course you make pie.

Pumpkin pie.

And pumpkin cookies. In the same night. See, the cookies are supposed to keep the kids and husband (who likes them better than the pie anyway) out of your pie. Notice the "are supposed". Today S-man went at it with a cake server whilst I was in the shower. I like squared-off dents in my pie.

On a different day, when you come out of the shower--and let's note right now I'm not a speedy showerer and having kids did nothing to help that because I get in there and like to forget my woes--you might find Mr Destructo's shirt in the hallway, his pants in the laundry room, and his underwear outside. With brown matter on it. Let's add in right here that you shouldn't be too quick to assume every pile of brown matter you find in your yard is from your neighbor's dog and that your son sat in it. Because when you question said son, he'll (so proudly) admit to "pooping outside in the mud" in 4-year-old accents, with a massive grin. Did I mention he seemed proud of his accomplishments? Let's hope the neighbor who's a busybody (and spying on us with foul intent) didn't see his, well, foul deed. No worries, I did NOT take pictures of that escapade. Though I was tempted.

On hindsight, I wonder if when he discovered I was in the bathroom, albeit with an unlocked door, he decided the great outdoors was the next best thing. How that is better than the spare bathroom (they did manage to squeeze in a tiny one in our small abode), is yet another reason I do not understand the workings of the male mind once their little bodies are mobile.

Another misunderstanding of male minds: if you are one, whether young or old--this being the young mind version, spilling out a whole family-sized box of Honey Nut (sticky) Cheerios equates to instant indoor dirt pile ideal for breaking trails with your vehicles.

And double bonus: the ultimate to go food when some gets stuck on your hands.

Oh, here's a good one: If you are at the pool and actually got in the water to people-watch (which also got me in trouble), and decide you have to use the nasty Surf 'N' Swim bathrooms, and are in the habit of putting toilet paper on the seat, now might be a good time to alter that habit, especially if your legs are damp (and sort of cottage-cheesy in the back)--which they will be when you pull your wet suit down. Because then, when you stand to go and are trying to hurry because you sympathize with the little girl outside desperately waiting (if you know what I mean and I'm sure you do), you find that no matter how fast you try to pick, that last ply of toilet paper just won't pry off until it's good and darn ready. A paint scraper wouldn't have helped. My mom said later I should have rinsed it in the showers, but I had to walk to the showers, and no way was I leaving that stall with several squares worth of toilet paper stuck to the back of my thighs. Oh the horrors.

And while we're stuck on gross pool bathrooms and misapprehension of the mini male mind that apparently I'm obsessed with, I'm thinking it's okay to teach your kid not to lock himself in the stall of the public restroom. He might be inclined to crawl under to the one next door that you though someone and come out--leaving his locked. Which resulted in more crawling to make him go back and unlock the first door to help out the future little girls in dire need. Then his hand washing left something to be desired, but at least soap touched his hands and got rubbed a little and so far we haven't incurred any fatal diseases from what I can see.

At church, when you ask Mr Destructo if he was good for his new teacher, who is up bearing her testimony about her new Primary class, and he says "yes", don't be deceived. Because the very. next. minute. you may hear about him doing somersaults in said Primary class. For the whole congregation to hear. And me and my irreverent self thought it was kind of funny. Gee, I wonder where my kids got their lack of reverence from. Yesterday (in Sacrament Meeting), I heard the girl (who's 8) in front of us asking her dad where his marbles were (I don't know why). I leaned forward and told her he lost them. Cheesy, I know, but I couldn't resist.

Okay last one: when your mom and husband take the two big kids to Lagoon and the S-man is sleeping half the time they're gone (because of course you go shopping with him when he's awake to take advantage of having just one kid with you), and you suddenly actually find yourself with free time at home with no one bugging you, don't go through the kid's room and clean out their toys and junk for the swiftly upcoming yard sale while they're not there to protest. NO. That would be too efficient. That would be too good a use of your time. It would make you feel too much like Wonder Woman. Don't empty the dishwasher either, nor fold any laundry nor clean anything in general because it will actually get to stay that way longer than three minutes. No again.

Blog instead.

And then wonder why all your hard-learned truths mostly involve bathrooms. Or bathroomal functions.