Michael's behavior improved yesterday, if only marginally. Late in the afternoon, (most likely out of a sense that his hold on this earth life was tenuous at best), he grabbed the broom and volunteered to sweep the floor. I think I actually heard some rusty wheels click into gear inside his head.
Today, however, I actually had to use the sentence, "Michael, quit fishing things out of the garbage can!"
The things you think will go without saying...
Plus, in addition to giving up bathroom breaks, now I have to give up showering. See?
I was a little distraught about the no-more-showers thing (I loathe being a grease ball) until I realized -- how convenient -- the end of the world is tomorrow! Haven't you heard? Yup, the rapture is set to begin at, well, some time tomorrow. (There's a difference of opinion over what time zone takes precedence). Regardless, this means I'm all set as far as showers go. No need to take one in the morning just so I can be clean, sparkly, and ready to be thrust down to hell. Plus, if the apocalypse begins tomorrow I don't even have to sweep up the cereal! Bonus!
Of course, maybe I should shower. I suppose there is the off chance that I might be one of the lucky "few" who ascend to heaven while the six billion remaining people get incinerated (or whatever it is that is supposed to happen to them). I mean, I did once win the privilege of cleaning the porta-potties at girls camp, so you see, I actually have pretty good luck.
Besides, this morning Leah rummaged through my piano books and selected a hymnbook, whereupon she crawled into the bathroom where I was showering, opened it up, and started singing to herself in front of the shower door. In tongues.
I'm so getting into heaven.