You know, for a brief shining moment there I thought a modicum of cleanliness had entered my life.  I was no longer washing soiled undergarments (yay potty training!), Chance really seemed to enjoy using napkins, he had learned not to fingerpaint with pudding and could distinguish that mud would make a mess, he even liked baths.  Life was looking up… at least from a cleaning perspective.

I should have known better.  I did grow up with three brothers after all but whatever, a girl's gotta dream.

I picked up Chance from preschool the other day and he looked like he had rolled full body in pasta… to find out that he DID roll in pasta.  (What?  It's the new Olympic sport, Mom!)  I've recently picked him up to find he has also rolled in sand/mud/paint.  He has – to his delight – discovered that his shirt is so much easier and more convenient than hunting down a tissue… from the tissue boxes that are in every room in the house.  And you know, sometimes it's just more important to run from the bathroom back to that video game as quickly as possibly, rather than making sure one is completely free of any potty debris.  Or even having pulled up the pants completely.

(Yes that is my bare-bottomed, dirty little boy running through the house, thank you very much, and no, I don't want to buy any magazines.)

((There is occasionally that door-to-door salesperson who is unfazed by the rampant nakedness.  Or as one said to me before he continued his pitch, "I have younger brothers."))

And recently, Chance's most common question whenever the subject of a bath comes up is,

"What will happen if I go to school stanky?"

(P.S. "Stanky" is his word, not mine.)

So anyway, from the awareness of being dirty to the convenience of being dirty in just a few short weeks.  I know this will pretty much last until college.  Case in point.

           – the weirdgirl