I love my boys. Most certainly I do. The little ones can be sweet and helpful. The big one keeps me laughing and protects me from the things that go bump in the night.

BUT. (You knew there was a ‘but’ coming.) And speaking of “buts” this is where I tell you this post is about the bathroom. If you are squeamish about bathroom talk, just move on to The Pioneer Woman’s blog. Who am I kidding? It’s not like you would read my blog before hers. And, truth be known, she may have talked about the bathroom a time or two so you might not be safe there either. Where was I?

Oh yes. BUT. Every single day I find this on my bathroom counter.

Every. Single. Day.

No, it is not always the same magazines, but the subjects are the same. Pigs. Cows. Tools. Farm stuff. (Notice there’s not a High Plains Journal. Sad, really.)

And here’s the deal: I don’t care that they read in the bathroom. There’s no “flagging” of magazines in the Martin household. George Costanza would get along fine here.

It’s just that I have a basket for the magazines in bathroom. They never get put back there, though. And I always find them on the counter, like the picture above. And every day I move them back the basket.

It’s a vicious cycle. Does this happen to anyone else? Anyone?