Nobody

There's this kid that keeps coming over to my house when I'm nursing the baby or taking a shower or am otherwise occupied with something other than silently looking my four children directly in the eye.  He seems to go by the name "Nobody."

Somebody needs to find this Nobody kid and give him a swift kick in the arse.

Yesterday, I discovered the crumbles and salt from a nearly empty bag of corn chips in a basket  clean laundry. (Who am I kidding?  It was a giant pile of clean laundry on the floor in the laundry room.  The baskets are all full of dirty clothes) Minus the bag, of course. Now, this was confusing for me, as my laundry room is a full set of stairs plus a good ten child paces from any place where my naturally obedient angels know they are allowed to eat.  So I rounded them up and asked my children who was eating corn chips in the laundry room.  They all looked at me with wide, bewildered eyes.

"Nobody did that, Mom."

Nobody.  Who keeps letting that kid in here?  Nobody keeps drinking my coffee when I answer the phone.  Nobody leaves toys in the yard.  Nobody has even taken my children's shoes out of the closet, where they always put them away, and hidden them, one in the car and the other under the recliner in the living room.

I know that all too soon, my children will tire of Nobody's company.  While they are out with friends and off to school, Nobody will be sitting on my sofa watching America's Funniest Videos laughing riotously.  Nobody will get lonely or sad and come snuggle with me long after bedtime.  Nobody will be so adorably proud when he makes his own sandwich, despite getting more peanut butter on the counter than on the bread.

Nevermind the arse-kicking.  Nobody can stay a while longer.

He just needs to quit eating corn chips in the laundry room.