Your tongue should not be touching your brother’s face.
Why are there dry erase markers in the bathroom, you ask? You don’t want to know.
Hubby, you’ve mixed up my underwear and our daughter’s.
We are not using Satan as a character in stories, ok?
I am not interested in discussing your butt.
Oh cool! Fireball whiskey is only 100 calories!
From tonight’s You Can’t Make This Stuff Up parenting corner:
(yelling erupts from across the house)
Adolescent Diva: “The Little Prince peed on the floor!”
Prince: “No I didn’t! I spitted!”
I walk to the kids’ bathroom, where the little prince is sitting on the toilet (he really should get more privacy) and the diva is standing in the doorway like a beat cop ready to give report. She points emphatically at a single square of toilet paper lying on the floor beside the toilet, with a clear wet spot spreading in the middle.
“Walk in that direction!” I order my adolescent, as I point my finger behind me towards her bedroom. As she stomps off, I take a step further into the bathroom and stare at the wet tissue square.
“Did you pee on the floor?” I ask my son.
“No,” he replies, still on the toilet.
“Did you spit on the floor?”
“Don’t do that!”
I walk away.
Later, I walk back into the bathroom with my son to give him a bath. The square of toilet paper still sits on the floor, the wet spot has now expanded. My son’s reaction?:
“Ew! That toilet paper is still on the floor!”