Y yes it would, but let's face it. We all live in the real world and that isn't a probability, at least in my house.
Laying in bed at 8:00 hearing the girls scavenge through the kitchen and scream and holler at each other is hardly my idea of starting the morning out right.
Some mornings I get lucky and beat them up but that doesn't happen very often. I don't beat them up as in beating them. I get up before them. Phew. Ok. That was a close call.
This morning I get up because I can't bare them running around the house behaving far worse than any little boys could.
I go the bathroom first thing and then I step into the living room filled with the aroma of nail polish and littered with a shopping cart full of kid paraphanalia.
I Ask them, "what have yall been into?". They look at me. That's all I get. I ask them again, "what have yall been into?". Again, they look at me like they have never seen me before and then Maria solemly admits to some miniature chocolate chips I use for baking. Reese just sits there.
I go on into the kitchen because I wake up hungry and after eating I will feel a little better and won't be likely to bite any heads off for any misdeeds.
I proceed to cut my apple into slices that I slather with peanut butter and I decide I should get my Italian beef going for the day as well, so I knock that out. The dishes are gonna have to wait for a minute.
I go back to the living room to claim my spot on the couch and turn to the food network. No Dora in my house. I place my plate on the table to the left and spy green fingernail polish half open. Ah ha. That's the fingernail polish I smell. So somebody has been into something. Like I wasn't going to find out. My eyes continue to scan until they fall on my plaid couch pillow which is painted haphazardly with said fingernail polish.
I told my momma to quit buying new furniture every year because her year old furniture she gives me just gets ruined.
I can't imagine what posessed Reese to paint on this cushion. She's five years old now. Who knows what she is thinking. I didn't beat her for it. I didn't even punish her. She curls up in the fetal position next to me not saying a word. Who can punish that?
Now that I'm done documenting this for her future torture device I shall get down to dishes and finish up the laundry so that when my momma comes this weekend she won't look upon my mound of laundry in disgust, whisking it off to the laundry mat. Well u would have a pile of laundry too if your momma deemed all the girls bedclothes dirty because they "smelled like a dog".
Just when I thought it was gonna be quiet, Maria just took reeses' moxi girl remote car and sat it on her head for the tires to eat her hair. She is now working like a little bee to untangle her hair from the tires. I'm done.
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