Pants on the fan, and more madness of single parenting

Matt worked late tonight.
As I was preparing dinner, the children were playing wonderfully. They had taken early baths after some sprinkler and popsicle time. They were running and squealing, gleeful and...
naked.

After a while, and a couple of living room streaking episodes, I reminded them that they should put clothes on for dinner.

Allison got dressed first and came to the kitchen.

"Joel's pants are on the ceiling fan," she said.
"But we're throwing a blanket up there to try to get them off."

I go into Joel's bedroom just as he's stepping on to the pink princess card table (dragged in from Allison's room), strategically placed beneath his ceiling fan. You know, the fan with pajama bottoms hanging off of one blade.

I get the pants down and go back to the kitchen. Joel comes in with no shirt. He can't find it he says.

"I know where it is!" says Allison. "It's in my room, where we were trying to throw it onto my fan."