of troy's post reminded me of a poem i have hanging in the hall, which i refer to when my husband complains about coming home to a disaster:

Some houses try to hide the fact
That children shelter there.
Ours boasts of it quite openly;
the signs are everywhere:

For smears are on the mirrors,
little smudges on the doors...
I should apologize, i guess,
for the toys strewn on the floor.

But i sat down with the children (in between AWAD sessions)
and we laughed and played and read...
and if the doorbell doesn't shine,
their eyes will shine instead.

So quiet down, cobwebs,
dust go to sleep...
I'm rocking my baby,
and babies don't keep.

~author unknown