My children ARE being raised by wolves.

Okay, see, I'm a good person, I truly believe this. So, what the HELL?!? Perhaps I should explain. I have a tendency to let some things, like organizing the office, slide. So, it looks like the tornado from The Wizard of Oz and Hurricane Katrina mated in there, so what? So, it takes a Nepalese Sherpa to traverse the floor from door to computer, I know where everything is. Does this mean that I should be subjected to such horrors as I was on Friday last? The littlest person in our house requested to play on the computer and, as I will not reveal the password upon the pain of death, I went in to set it up for him. In the office is the unmistakable odor of urine. I ask, understandably, "Who peed in here?" Thinking (also understandably) that I wouldn't receive an answer because I assumed it was either the cat or the dog. NO! My little blond-haired, blue-eyed Spawn of Satan pipes up, "I did!" I have too many WTF moments in my life. I had thought that he grasped the concept of peeing only in the toilet after being grounded for whizzing in the cat box. (Note: cats will not use the cat box after a 5 year old pisses in it!) I even thought it was a little more clear after he peed in the trashcan (that was 6 INCHES from the toilet) in the bathroom. Last, but not least, when the top of my head blew off after he peed from the top of the big toy onto the climbing wall. Luckily, this was our big toy and not one at the park. *sigh* Well, maybe he'll get it now. After much yelling, more grounding, and the threat of living in pampers until he matriculates, he may figure we only pee in porcelain bowls filled with water and equipped with magical silver handles. Or out in the woods. Either that or 20 years from now he'll have $40,000 worth of therapy under his belt and a national bestseller Toilet Nazi: the true story of horror and control.