Screaming from the back room, where the kids play and watch TV. It always screaming from the back room.
Thankfully, the vocabulary on my three year old is expanding, and she can now tell me all the horrible things her sister is doing to her, instead of my oldest continually leading me to believe that my youngest is some kind of demon spawn who attacks at random.
Allie finds me in the kitchen. Crocodile tears running down her face. I think she now realizes she can get her sister into some trouble for some minor offenses if she blows them up big enough. I was kind of disappointed to see she was not nominated for the Emmy’s this year.
“Mama, sissy hit me,” she whined. She made sure to look extra pathetic so I would be sympathetic.
I march into the back room. I’m sure I have some years of punishment to catch up on for all those years she couldn’t find the words to tattle.
“Paige Madison! Did you hit your sister?” I’m not too good at being the disciplinarian. Mostly because I find the kids too comical ninety percent of the time to hold a straight face.
“Well,” she stalled. “Maybe I touched her ear with my fist.”
That hardly counts. Right?