One of the books that made the rounds through the first six of our kids was Amelia Bedelia. For some reason it lost its appeal with Benjamin. Yesterday I put two and two together and maybe figured out why. Amelia Bedelia lives here. 

If you have never read these children's books, they are about a maid who takes her employer's instructions literally. Dust the furniture? Amelia cheerfully found the dusting powder and applied it to the couch. Draw the curtains? Happy to. She found a pencil and pad of paper and went to it. Put out the lights? Amelia hung the lightbulbs on the clothesline. Impressed that I remember it when my first round of kids are in their thirties? Don't be. I read it approximately eighty seven thousand times. 

Ben does a few chores each afternoon before plunking down in front of Disney reruns. Yesterday I gave him a list which included "wash the towels." Before starting dinner I went to find the basket of towels I had brought up from the dryer that morning, but could not find them. I asked if anyone had (I know this is unlikely) put them away, but no one had. 

No. Please no. Surely he had not washed the clean ones.

But there they were in the washer, and since the relentless stream of laundry was in place there was someone else's clothes in the dryer. I had little choice but to hang the towels on the line. Which meant they would be as crunchy as my favorite peanut butter. 

I am aware of the quirk in my character that tends to truncate information. I forget to tell John that we are meeting a couple at noon. I fail to mention to the kids that the apple pie on the counter is for a new mom, not them. Then I have the nerve to be annoyed when they can't read my mind. 

Ah well. I am learning to be more clear.

"Please wash the four dirty towels that are in the blue bathroom. With soap. In the washer. In the basement. Remember to turn it on. "