So two of the five little people in my family have taken over moved into my house for the week, along with my mother and my brother. His daughters, my nieces, aged three and five, have covered all surfaces in my home with little, sticky fingerprints, and have thus far dirtied every exposed fabric with known and occasionally unknown substances. They have also found every object not bolted down that they could carry and have dutifully carried it somewhere else. Two closet doors have been knocked from the tracks, green dye has permanently altered my dining room floor, soap-bubble mix has stripped the varnish from my coffee table and the dogs frequently have "My Little Pony" stickers affixed to their furry, rear ends.

I regularly escape to the sanctuary of my office/guest bedroom where I'm hiding sleeping this week and stare at the ceiling wondering how two sweet and gentle little girls with a combined weight of maybe 75 pounds can sound so much like a professional basketball team chasing a hippo through my living room.

And I've seen those hippos in Africa so I totally know what that sounds like too.

Still, they brought me flowers yesterday. And that was very cute and devastatingly sweet of them.

My neighbors, however, are wondering just what happened to all the flowers in their planter. I'm blaming the seagulls. The kids terrorize me, sure, but they are still family and family sticks together.

I love these kids dearly, but I'm learning that kids and OCD don't always mix. I am betting they would mix better if I added a little more beer. My sister has two little ones also. And I think I'm beginning to understand my brother in law's not infrequent and sudden business trips. Silence. And beer.