I always knew I wasn’t going to be the “fun” parent.
Someone has to tell them to sit up straight, eat their beans, put their socks in the hamper and no, for the last time, you can’t keep the toad/frog/ant/turtle/crawfish/bird/rabbit/worm as a pet. Now go to sleep!
So maybe I shouldn’t think this is as funny as I do.
Journal entry pages from two different boys:
Love how they both spelled “wrestle”.
Note the bulging biceps. Very important for wrestling, you know.
“Mom cleans garage.”
(I’d like to note that I’m still a stick figure in their minds. Not a big circle blob, like I feel.)
For the record, I don’t know what the assignment was. I’m not sure if I’d rather find out it was “fun things you do with your Mom and Dad” or “what does your Mom and Dad do all the time?”
I’m obviously not always sweeping the garage.
Sometimes I’m sweeping my kitchen.