The Scream (Mother of Boys Edition)

My sister, bless her, came and stayed with the boys this evening so Paul and I could go on a date. (We went to Lowe’s and Chipotle. I know. We’re so glamorous we can’t stand ourselves.)

We got home with bedtime in full swing, so there was a lot of arguing and trying to get away with a brushing of the teeth that lasted five seconds and implementation of delaying tactics and punching (because it’s never a bad time to punch your brother in the head, amirite?), but when the whirlwind abated, I got to hear about suppertime.

They ate well, but in a turn of events that will surprise no one at this point, they were singing the Trick or Treat song (smell my feet version) over and over and over and over. Probably because it mentions underwear. Originally employing the let-them-get-it-out-of-their-system strategy, Auntie snapped on about repetition eleven and said,”ENOUGH! Stop. No more. Nothing. EAT.”

And Levi said, “Mom sometimes screams right in the middle of lunch!”


“Well,” she said, after taking a long moment to arrange her face into an appropriately disapproving expression, “I can’t imagine why.”

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