Geez. Don't they know that it's past 3 p.m., so all learning must stop? But they're in there this minute making recycled paper. A big, gooey mass of wet paper on my shiny clean dining room table. (OK, Blogless Leigh know that's a lie. I've never had a clean dining room table.) Laurel appears to be adding yeast to it (who knows the origin of that thought process), and Jesse is telling her (sensibly) to spread it out flat. I keep hearing phrases that frighten me, like "Don't come in here, Mommy!" and "Stop drooling! That's disgusting!" And...scariest of all..."I'll go get the blow-dryer now!" Geez! What's wrong with those kids? Don't they have any math homework to do?