It doesn't matter if I clean the bathroom once a week or once a day, there is always pee on the toilet in the kids' bathroom. Sometimes, when the quantity is borderline unbearable, I'll ask the boys how they function at school since they seem to be suffering from unexplained temporary blindness, never seeing the small pond of urine that they left on the back of the toilet.
"It wasn't me," Zach always says. "I know how to aim."
"Maybe it was Zoe," Charlie will add. "Because I know it wasn't me either."
At this point, I am always disappointed by their lack of creativity when figuring out who to blame. Does Charlie really think that a five-year-old girl, whose legs don't even touch the floor when she's on the toilet, is going to maneuver her ass all the way to the back of the seat just so she can pee there and get her brothers in trouble? Actually, now that I think about it, this scenario is possible, but the puddle would have been bigger.
It seems to me that if chimpanzees can be taught how to use a computer, and an African Grey Parrot can learn a vocabulary of 950 words, it isn't unrealistic to expect human boys to grab an extra wad of toilet paper and wipe up some pee. Perhaps, even, wrap their opposable digits around that bristly thing on a long stick and clean the toilet.
Doug suggested that we turn aiming into a competitive sport with an elaborate point system, creating an electronic urinal cake that recognizes when it's been hit with a steady stream of pee and says "HEADSHOT" in that voice from Halo. This might work, but then I'd be worried about them getting confused and peeing on the TV instead. Then they'd just blame the dog.