I have two sons; the oldest is three and the youngest is one. One morning while enjoying my scalding hot coffee and the same page of the book I have been reading for a week; I thought to myself, life is good. I think I’m getting in the swing of this stay-at-home thing. Here I am, enjoying a quiet moment while my children entertain themselves. Neither of my children were yelling at each other. It was incredibly quiet. The eerie stillness of deceit permeated the air.
I set about the regular checklist: Pulling out electrical socket protectors? No. Attempting to throw blocks into the ceiling fan? No. Or my personal favorite, playing Buried Treasure in the cat litter. (The fun part is figuring out if they found treasure or buried it.) No, not there. My oldest son walks up to me and proceeds to tell me that there is something wrong with his little brother. I assure him I already know that, but he insists that something else is wrong. Immediately, I know my youngest is in my shower because he’s attracted to the drain like Angela wants Tony to be the Boss. Continue reading