The dogs are barking

I'm home doing what I do every other Wednesday evening - cleaning up for the cleaning lady to come tomorrow.  I'm more picking up - not cleaning anything - just putting things where they belong so Mary can do her thang, and so we can actually find stuff when she leaves. She's amazing at cleaning and apparently even better at putting things away SO WELL we can't find them for weeks. 

I realized I do something I GUARENTEE doesn't happen when Jay picks up. I see a row of very carefully placed toilet paper squares all around Sam's room, and instead of tossing them in the trash I evaluate the level of anger that will arise from said child when she sees I've destroyed her "very special thing."  

Here are my levels:

1 - 4 level = minimal tears and quick to recover; also see "blame it on daddy". 

5 - 8 = high pitch screeches that make the neighbor dogs bark and usually result in yelling, sobbing, and "you just don't understand". 

9 - 10: Sonic. Boom. 

I'll let you know what happens next. Fingers crossed I can blame it on the cat.