Why did it have to be my Favorite pair?

So I'm buzzing around, keeping everyone on task, feeling so efficient. I have boy 1 washing the walls, boy three is picking up toys in the yard, boys 4 and 5 are playing happily in the tub. I'm on the computer setting up a math program for boy 2. All of a sudden an alarm sounds "Poop, Poop! It's GREEN!" I heave a sigh, knowing the next ten minutes are going to be very unpleasant. I linger for a moment or two, not in a hurry to face what I know awaits me. I drag my feet on the way to the bathroom, thinking I have some fishing to do of the not-fun kind. Instead, I pass a naked runner, in whose chubby cheeks the evidence is still wedged. I follow the gleeful sounds of his grossed out brothers to my bedroom- that's right MY BEDROOM! Among poopy footprints all over my floor, I find a load on my favorite shoes. The ones I've worn almost every day for years. I promptly put the offending shoe in the dumpster. The best part of this story is what happens next. Boy #2 comes and puts his arms around me, and tells me he knows how I feel. He remembers how it was when a little brother peed in his bed. He retrieves the favorite shoe, santitizes it with gloved hands, and returns to me with the question "Is there a lady in the house?" Can I get any luckier?