The boy is just spinning. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Around and around he's going. Pretty soon, I'd lay money down that he's going to puke. I'm waiting for it. My only request is that he not puke on the walls. Crayon is hard enough to get off the wall, it doesn't need to be mixed with pop-tart paste.

It's clean up time around the Hossman house. We have to do this from time to time to avoid making an appearance on the show "Hoarders." After we are done, I have no idea how it got so messy, that we don't even own enough crap to make it as messy as it was. Then I go to the bathroom. When I come back out I understand exactly how it got so messy. I have kids. That's why it's so messy. And that's how long it takes, 3 minutes to go from clean to Dear God call the AMC producers, we've got a hoarder. I think my children have the ability to pull broken toys from a secret 12th dimension. Their only purpose is to spread broken toy parts on the floor for me to step on and get lock jaw.

3 hours to clean, 3 minutes to mess up. There's a part of me that impressed by their determination and teamwork.

So I've given my orders to the minions. Clean up time. Get cracking.

That's when the boy started to spin. That was 10 minutes ago. I don't even think he knows I'm here, watching him. Occasionally he'll stop and pick up a toy. I am happy. But he only picks up the toy so that he can hurl it while he spins. It becomes a deadly projectile and the dogs push each other to the front to take any shrapnel for the resulting toss.

Around and around he goes, avoiding responsiblity. I'm afraid this is going to be an issue when he turns 16 and tells me his teachers don't understand him. My initial reaction will be to smack the back of his head. I must avoid my initial reaction although it is sooooooo tempting. I grew up with smacks on the back of the head. It's how my father and I communicated. Often. Very often. I have a callus there.

I have had problems with my son when it comes to clean up time. He tends to get easily distracted as most 3 year olds do. Today it is spinning. Tomorrow it might mean throwing crap off the top of the stairs although I do submit to his logic on that one--it's pretty cool. But not the spinning, I don't get the spinning.

I can't see the fun factor in it. It is beyond the grasp of my mature adult mind to comprehend. All I know is that when I say "clean-up" he tends to ignore me. He does that alot. If he was older, I would swear he was a stoner. He's just a laid back kid, doesn't often give me trouble. Sure, he can be whiny at times but that's about it. He doesn't break stuff, that's his sisters department. She has a monopoly on wrecking shit. He's done his fair share, but no where near the Genghis Khan like carnage she has laid down.

Nope, his M.O. is to just walk around aimlessly looking for bright lights and race cars. He's like a moth.

Now he fell down. Almost cracked his head against the wall. I'm waiting for this figuring it will teach him a good lesson. Spinning makes you puke and crack your skull. Listen to dad, pick up your toys. He gets back up and continues to spin.

I'm starting to get upset. Partly because I want to get the clean up thing done. I'm tired and I still need to cook a subpar dinner.

He continues to spin. I'm mad now. Fine, you want to spin. Ok, great. I tell you what. Let's all spin. Let's just all say screw it and live in filth and spin our troubles away. Get your sister, let's make her spin to. We'll spin the dogs, we'll spin the cat we'll even spin Hossmom when she gets home and we have to explain why there are mashed potatoes on the floor from lunch. Great. I don't care anymore. I'm spinning.

And spinning, and spinning and spinning. This isn't so bad. Not bad at all. The whorling of shapes going around is pretty cool. I'm getting a little dizzy here but it's a good kind of dizzy. I hear him laughing and now I"m laughing to.

What were we supposed to be doing? Cleaning? No, I don't think that's right. Spinning! Yes, we were supposed to be spinning! Wow, this is great. I wonder how fast I can go before I puke. No worries, the dogs will eat it. I just ate left over steak, they'll love it. It's getting hard to keep my balance now, I'm wobbling. I feel something strike my leg, I think it's my son.

We go down together. Neither one of us crack our skulls. We are both laughing.

You know what would be cool? If we got a toy while we were spinning and then chunked that little bastard! I bet that would be awesome!

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