It had been a blissful morning, filled with the usual tasks of wake up, shower, load dishwasher, load washing machine, empty dryer, make breakfast and get kids running. Simple. Easy. Routine.
That's when you need to be on your guard, folks. Lord WTF is always lurking, making you feel safe. I should have just kept the terrorist level on orange, but no, no. I let it drop to green, not wanting to scare the populace of my house into jumping at shadows or Lite Brights arranged as Moonites.
The two year-old, Lord WTF's greatest follower for he is small, impressionable and well, two, comes downstairs covered in a red substance that looks like blood, holding out his hand with one finger curled under so it is not visible to myself as I'm making a marinade for some kabobs. I scream, baby screams and I think the 4 year-old screamed. 6 year-old said keep it down, she couldn't hear her game on the computer and the 7 year-old vanished. He knows when to get out of the blast range.
I dash to the stairs and snatch the blessed toddler who then either high five's me in the face or does the 'face palm' maneuver and I smell it then. Ketchup. Lord WTF has gone to using my food stores as weapons and psychological warfare on me.
He will rue the day, oh yes. Rue it.
~sighs and trudges upstairs to make a 2 year-old clean up the Picasso tableau on my bedroom door. Medium used? Heinz 57~
Friday, April 30, 2010
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