Hate me not for questioning the intelligence...

of my own children.

::hanging head::

I remember that they're mine and, therefore, temporary lapses in thought processes are not expected but encouraged, for blog material if not my own amusement and self-justification. Having said that:

Dude, 7:25 a.m., this very morning, year of our Lord 2008...

I see my darling redhead, my pride, my comfort child. He walks with a rather hard-riding cowboy-ish stance. Usually, the prickly heat doesn't affect him in February, so, naturally, I asked what's up.

"I had to wear some rather wet jeans today!" he yells at me.

"You took them from the line?" I asked.

"Yes." His tone is a mix of "Well, duh!" and "That is the most ignorant question I've ever heard" with a dash of "It's morning, heifer. Leave me alone!"

"Why didn't you check the dryer?" I asked.

"You didn't tell me to!" he said.

I shook my head, not even going into the fact that he never asked before he got dressed, but it's just not even worth it. Had I launched into it, I would have said: This is a jeans-and-T-shirt household. Jeans x 5 people + Ameren screwing us = some get hung, some get dried. For every 10 pairs of jeans on the line, there are usually two pairs in the dryer. Hello, I'm on top of the laundry sitch, and Stud even more so! On Monday? After all weekend?

I gave him his jeans. I think I need to go find the damp ones...I know darn well he didn't hang them back up on the line.

We're not even getting into the fact that Sunny's yelling at me because I didn't cure her little nagging cough before standardized testing this week. How this translates to all my fault really has me flummoxed.

P.S. Thanks all for reading my Ode to Crystal. I keep checking her site, and the comments of support keep growing and growing. That's what she needs, and you kick ass.