Sponges

I stood at the kitchen sink this morning, catching up on the dishes I didn't get to last night.  I held a green sponge in my right hand and scoured the melty cheese from a saucepan.  Aubrey, my four year old, sat on a stool at the bar.  She was busily coloring in her favorite coloring book.  When she finished the picture she'd been working on she proudly held it up for me to see.  A cow.  A cow that had been meticulously colored brown and red.

"That looks great!" I told her as I brought my sudsy left hand out of the water to give her a big thumbs-up.

"I need to learn about cows," she said earnestly, "maybe we should go to cow-dot-com."

Cow-dot-com.

Obviously, the green sponge in my hand isn't the only thing in the house soaking up everything around it.