Little mess machine

I will be the first to admit that I clutter. I like things to be clean, but I'm not always great about making sure everything is in its place. Perhaps part of it is a bit of rebellion. My mom was known to follow my dad and I around picking up after us. Where was that glass I was just drinking out of? I could have sworn my coat was right here! Messes didn't stand a chance with mom. Maybe the explanation is simply that I just didn't receive that package of genes labeled "Neat and Orderly"...I don't know. One thing I do know is, that as cluttery and as messy as I can be, Scotty is about 100 times worse. 

Here is a collection of 'stuff' that I found hiding beneath the couch.

And our landing is another place where 'stuff' collects. 

Here's the culprit. Cute as can be, no question. He inherited all of my messy genes...and wound up with a bunch of them on his own somehow. There is no denying that none of them came from Steven. Steven doesn't have one messy gene in his entire body. I can count on one hand how many times I've picked something up that belonged to my husband...and that's in nineteen years. There's just no messiness in him at all. 

About a week ago, I helped Scotty do a very thorough cleaning of his room. This took some time, a few trash bags and a lot of detergent to clean all the dirty clothes I fished out of there. 

His room has stayed remarkably clean, and both Steven and I had mentioned how surprised we both were that this was the case.

Then we realized that he was keeping his room clean and trashing the space beneath the couch instead. After Scott had picked up his mess and I'd swept and vacuumed the floors, Steven came in and sat down and said, "Wow. It feels great in here!" When I admitted that I had allowed it to get kind of trashed, his response was, "You think?" Thank God my husband loves me...and his son...and is patient with our less than white glove cleaning habits. He's forced himself to learn a lot of patience over the years. Just one more reason out of million why I love him so much.

After his pick up was done, Scotty had to lie down and rest a bit. It takes a fair amount of energy to explode in paper airplanes, socks, toys, goldfish crackers, books and trash everywhere he goes. Recovery time is short, however.

Ah...our little mess machine. You gotta love him...and we do!