Taz Times Three...
Tonight, just before supper:
Mother: (Addressing The Troops) Okay, you little chuckle-heads, I'm going downstairs to get the laundry... NO FIGHTING while I'm out of the room, GOT IT??!
Naturally, no sooner does The Mother's big toe hit the top step, all three girlies begin squabbling, and sounds of Hell Breaking Loose erupt from the kitchen.
Mother: (Continuing down the basement stairs, and YELLING) Right!! If you're GOING to fight, just make sure it's TO THE DEATH. Got it??!!
It's been a LOOOOOONG day...
3 comments:
If I could walk over to your house with a Margarita, I would.
Oh, my God, and for a margarita, I'd crawl over broken glass and hot coals to YOUR place and save you the trouble, friend!! Thanks!!
My husband refers to the playroom as "the arena of death - three kids go in but only one kid will leave." Obviously, I know what you're talking about.
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