And just to give you some perspective, today, the kids did not eat all their breakfast easily and quickly and without single-handedly desalinating the entire Himalyan Mountain Range.

They did not make their beds, get dressed, brush their teeth and hair quickly.

They did not play with just one toy.

Instead, the evil geniuses did the exact opposite of the graceful and wondrous things they did yesterday.

They went downstairs, and they went very quiet.  Very.  After yesterday, I saw this as positive, rather than portentous.  Sucker fact #1.  So I did not go down to investigate, I assumed, on the basis of one day of unprecedented excellence (that shall henceforth be known as THE Golden Day) that they were silently and systematically completing all of the set tasks.  Sucker fact #2.

They were not doing any of these things.

They were in fact recreating the aftermath of Cyclone Tracey in each of their bedrooms.  They were efficient and effective in their re-enactment, and just like Tracey, they moved quickly and then they were silent.

If you’d like a list of the damages, here it is:

• Every Sylvanian and it’s accessories were strewn across the floor. The floor has a rug.  With a heavy shag-pile.  So now there are stupid tiny, tiny, minuscule pencils and bottles and lipsticks that will ne’er be seen again.  Their sound will be heard as they are hoovered up next week.  And no, I will not be vacuuming with a stocking over the vac to find these tiny agents of evil.
• All of the Lego was out, but only some of the Lego was invisible.  Invisible, but not undetectable to the soft, delicate arch of my bare feet.
• Every stuffed toy was out of it’s drawer.  I usually have them shoved in a drawer.  I had no idea there were so many. Inexplicably they were lined up on Liam’s bed, a row of strange cyclone survivors.
• A box of musical instruments, unopened for over five years were ALL out.  Maracas, harmonicas, home-made shakers, castanets, bells, xylophones, ukuleles, whistles and bells. WHAT?  WHY?
• A scrapbooking class must have come to visit, had their way with Coco’s supplies and then vanished, as every.bit.of.craft.crap was out.  Even the never-previously-used stamp pad.

There was probably more, but I’m sick of talking about it now, almost as sick as I was of cleaning it all up today.  Usually I wouldn’t have done it.  Usually I would have made them do it themselves, with the threat of the big green bin to get the task done with alacrity, but today was different.

And those little axes of evil knew it, because tomorrow:

(Insert Jaws theme, or Death Star March, or the shower music from Psycho)

THE MOTHER-IN-LAW COMES.

So all must be perfect.

It is as Liam said when he clocked the state of his bedroom and the bathroom this afternoon, “It’s like the Queen is coming to visit.”

Mission Accomplished.

How about you, do you clean up after your brats?

Any Mother-In-Law tips?   (Just joking Jen)