Poo in the Toilet

If I had a breaking point, and I think I do, it'd be the poo in the toilet. 

Can anyone tell me at what point children actually remember to flush the toilet?  I can live with the knowledge that they probably forgot to wipe their bums.  I wash laundry all day every day whether they wipe or not.  What absolutely drives me around the bend though is walking into a bathroom only to be greeted by the sight of a big blob of poo in the toilet.

If it's not the poo then it's the... "Mommy, my bed is wet" five minutes before bedtime.  Did they tell me in the morning when it happened?  No. That would have made too much sense.  It should have been obvious to me when my 5 year old was up and dressed without prompting. 

Or the spilled milk.  Nothing like walking into a room to find a cup tipped over and milk pouring from table to chair to floor. No sign of the culprit in sight.  I, once again, applaud myself on my foresight of putting vinyl on my recovered chairs and mentally scoff at my mother at her suggestion of why bother.

Then it's the caps left off the felts.  I'm not made of money I scream as I feverishly delve into the felt bin trying to match colors to felts top prevent them from drying out.  Who cares if pink is on pink and blue on blue?  I do for some bizarre reason. 

And the paper.  Oh the horror of paper.  My 3 year old's latest obsession is gluing paper together in long strips and then abandoning it for days.  If it's not glue then it's the safety scissors as little bits of paper are strewn about every aspect of my life.  He's learning eye hand coordination I tell myself, it's an important part of development.  He will be graded, after all, on correct handling of scissors when he enters kindergarten (I'm not kidding). 

Then it's the playdoh, why can't they just play nicely with it?  Why does it have to be shredded into a million and one teeny weeny bitsy bits that immediately gets embedded into everyone's socks and tracked through out the house.  Playdoh just doesn't sweep up well until it's dried. 

Or the sneakiness.  How is it I can be sitting just five feet away from them either folding laundry, on the computer or doing dishes and the most heinous of crimes can be committed right underneath my nose?  Hard of hearing mom or just stealth like ninja kids?

It's days like these that I seriously consider going back to work outside the home.