One thing we pride ourselves here at the Fire Direction Center is our unswerving commitment to Truth. We give you parenting with the bark still on.
Or, in this case, the tears.
This started, innocently enough, as a tumble with Mommy on the grownups bed as Daddy finished getting dinner ready. But rough and tumble fun turned to rough play and somebody's little foot hit somebody else in the mouth.
Ohmifuckinggod. The tears.Peep sobbed bitterly, clutching a pillow to his owie lip. Missy wept buckets, apparently in sympathy, although she kept sobbing about her "bum-bum" even though she bore no visible wound.
Cuddling, ice and caresses had no effect.
Mojo was unable to do anything but ride out the storm.
Tears, oh the bitter, bitter tears.
Enough wailing for a dozen operas. More fingerpointing than a Mafia trial. Muffled cries of "She kicked me!" mingled with sobs of "Shea-shea!!" It was Drama multiplied by melodrama that only preschool and toddler can produce...a heartrending chorus of absolute and unconsolable sorrow.Until, of course, it was time to Ride the Bucking Mommy.
Stay up for eight seconds and win the prize.