Putting and Moving

I've just finished folding yet another load of clothes from the endless, ever-growing pile of laundry that's haunting me in the garage. As I scoop up a stack of towels to put away in the bathroom, Lil' Miss asks,

"Mom, what are you doing?"
"Putting these towels away."
"Why?"
"Because they go under the sink in the bathroom."
"Why?"

I'm about to follow up on this question, when it occurs to me that she's not just playing the precious "I'm-Bored-So-I'm-Just-Going-To-Keep-Asking-You-Why" Game. She really wants to know why I don't just leave the towels there, right where I folded them on the kitchen table. Leave them there, FOREVER. All I can come up with is "Because that's where they go." I really don't have a show-stopping answer for her.

Then it hits me. I spend a significant amount of time, A LOT OF TIME each day putting things away, moving things from one place to another. All day long I'm collecting toys, tossing trash, gathering dirty clothes, and reorganizing. A never-ending flurry of bending down, picking up, moving, and putting away, and all for what? For NOTHING. No reason that makes any sense to them! All my "putting" and "moving" are just the works of a crazy woman, the compulsive repetitions of a maniacal crackpot. If not for the food and the love and the dance parties in the kitchen, they'd have thrown my butt out on the streets a long time ago.