And Zen What

I want to apologize to whatever continent we've accidentally stolen the gravity of.

We didn't mean to, and we'd like to give it back.

It's taken me a while to figure this out, and I'm still not too sure of the math involved, but extra gravity is the only explanation for what's on my floors.

TV room: 5 shoes, only one pair (widely separated); 7 sheets of lined paper, two of which boast unflattering sketches of Three with clever ("clever") titles which reek of 7-9 year old humor ("Three Eats Boogers" and "Three Ways a Thousend Pownds"); a popsicle wrapper (see, now, I KNOW that's stolen gravity because popsicles are not allowed in that room at all, ever); 5 colored pencils, 2 without points, 1 with 2 points; 4 picture books, all open and in various stages of dog-eared deshabille; 2 Pokemon cards; 3 YuGiOh cards; a paintbrush (oh dear lord--where is the corresponding paint???); an empty Cup O' Noodles carton; a plastic Lord of the Rings sword, large, but without bloodstains; a Mexican blanket; some long threads pulled out of the center of one of the throw rugs; a coverless copy of Black Beauty; 2 remotes; a small pink hoodie; a blue fluffy Nite Lite bear; many pieces of scotch tape bonded to the tile; a Little Tikes keyboard with unidentifiable bluish goop adorning some of the keys; and dust bunnies who are older than some of the kids.

And that's just what I can see without standing up.

Since the words "pick up this room or [insert utterly useless parental threat/bribe/consequence here]" have been uttered in various pleading, menacing, and/or despairing tones about sixteen times today alone, and all before lunch, I believe I have irrefutable proof that there is a gravity sluice of some kind hovering over my house.

So, please, Cameroon or Argentina or New Zealand, please: you can have your gravity back. Just come and get it.

And could I also interest you in a Pokemon card or two?