Entry FeedI was just down on the floor picking up a thousand scraps of paper smaller than postage stamps. Daughter had discovered her brother's scissors yesterday. "Aren't I a good cutter, Mommy?" "Yes, you certainly are!" Curse you, scissors! Why is cutting stuff into little pieces so darn appealing to kids?
At least I stopped her from cutting a hat, a library book, and the living room rug.
Down on my hands and knees, picking up the big scraps before I try vacuuming (luckily Son One is big and strong enough now to bring the vacuum up from the basement) Son Two walks into the living room.
"Just so you know, this leg might be broken later today, Mum," he says, pointing at his right leg. "It hurts every time I walk on it."
"Honey, come here and let me see where it hurts."
"That's OK. I'll show you later when it breaks," he says, as he turns and leaves the living room.
Gee - either he is psychic, or over dramatic about a sore leg. Let's hope it's the latter.