Here's the truth: I had the most perfect children for miles around, when they were children. People would comment on their perfect manners, their perfect behaviour, their perfect clothes (thank you, thank you, I matched everything and I've got the pictures to prove it. Even shoes. Do you know how hard it is to find purple and green tennis shoes for a five year old?? Pretty darn difficult), their perfect responses to other adults, the perfect way they played with other children.
|There was the cutest sweater that matched those pants. She HATED it.|
|With cousins J and C. They're men now, unbelievable.|
I don't wish that on anyone, really. If you fall into the "perfect child" category right now, run, run as fast as you can. Take as many movies as you can so you can remember what it felt like. Never, and I mean never, have an arrogant thought (not that I ever did. I have always freely admitted that I have no idea how they came to be so good.) Take this time to relax, don't feel guilty about having a martini in front of them. Don't feel guilty about setting a bad example. Don't ever thank your lucky stars!!!!!
And God help me, I don't know what happened. I mean, usually, I'm pretty clued in. I know when to get out the way. I know when to hold a bat to protect myself. I know that Tasmanian devils are not domesticated and that you should never try and touch them. I've watched "The Crocodile Hunter" enough times. When he handled a Tasmanian devil, it was not a pretty sight. No, sirrrreeeee. I am one smart woman.
Snake - bad. Bunny - good.
Spider - bad. Little chick - good.
Duncan - bad. Kitten - good. (another story, another time)
This morning was bad, very bad, blood everywhere. I still don't really know what happened and it's really B's story but let's just say, there was crying, shaking, hitting of everything in the car except E and I, kicking the dashboard, yelling, even some growling. And then we reached our destination...,