My ninja daughter will silently hop and weave around her strewn toys, while I stagger blindly after her through the pitch black, arms reaching out like a zombie's, stumbling over sharp-pointed objects laying about willy-nilly. Upon rising from a deep sleep, my censors and appropriate language skills are not fully awake. With Herculean effort, I'm training myself in these situations to keep my mouth shut, or if I must utter an expletive, to say something benign like fudgsicle.
My muttering needs work. I tend to screech at the top of my phlegmy lungs, "FUDGESICLE! FUDGESICLE!" as I hop across the floor, impaling my foot with each uncoordinated step. What was that? A jack? A fork? SEWING NEEDLES? What kind of toys are my children playing with exactly? And why can't they learn to put their butcher knives away before bed? Holy fudgesicles.
Dinner last night: homemade cheeseburgers and fries
Exactly one year ago:
Exactly two years ago:
I refuse to age gracefully. I'm going to fight it tooth and nail.
My husband always says we never need to worry about anyone breaking in, the place is basically booby-trapped.
Our kids, when being asked to clean up, have taken to taking their toys only most of the way downstairs. They stack their toys on the stairs, which has lead to more than one unfortunate event. Who would have through that stupid HotWheels would cause so many problems. And Legos...those things HURT when you step on them.
Oh my word I can relate. But I put Aaron to bed and he comes back every time.........lol
I swore the kids wouldn't have toys laying around the new house.........hmmmm wonder what happened to that rule. :/ Missed reading hour blog, glad to be online again. :)
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