From the time Monkey gets off the bus, pretty much straight up till bedtime, all bets are off in our house. As the day winds down, my kids tend to wind up. And the small hour right before Daddy is due home is the worst, doubly so if I'm trying to do something constructive - like cook dinner. Tonight was no exception.
I had Little Bear in the kitchen with me while I was prepping some chicken to go into the oven, and knew there was mayhem going on by the noises emanating from the playroom. I had every intention of stepping in as soon as I washed the salmonella off my hands, but the minute Scootch's shrieks of glee turned into tears I figured I had missed the opportunity. Somehow Monkey's teeth sliced through Scootch's skin on his back. I walked in on her screaming "I SAID I'm SORRY!" at him (as if those words alone would stop the pain or the blood) and sent her to her room for a timeout.
After doctoring Scootch with an ice pack, finally managing to get dinner into the oven, and trying to get Little Bear occupied with some activity in the living room, I heard a tale of woe being lamented out of the bedroom upstairs. I'm hoping the video below will amuse you as much as it does me (now that I've calmed down). Do you think I could send this in as Monkey's audition tape for drama school?
(Please disregard the mess of the upstairs!)
Anyone have the phone number for Mr. DeMille? I think she's ready for her close up!