A Huge Helping of Not Perfect

I have wonderful children.



There's mah baby. He's funny and cute and sassy and smart.



And there's my big boy. He's sweet and cute and quirky and smart.

But you know what?

They aren't perfect.

(gasp.) (I just heard my mother screech a little in the distance.)

It's true. They aren't perfect because, well...



Their father isn't perfect.

(clunk.) (I think that was my mother-in-law fainting.)

(but he's really cute, isn't he?)

Anyhow - obviously their lack of perfection doesn't come from me. I think we've seen time and again how amazingly perfect I am. But, I digress...

So today.  Today.  TODAY. Was not a good day. It was a not perfect day. It was a day that will live in infamy...all over a few math problems, the time it takes to brush teeth, willful disobedience and...

Plush. Stuffed. Animals.

In my defense...I warned them. I cajoled them. I begged and pleaded and gave many many chances.

But now? Let's just say that I am the proud owner of dozens of "stuffies." They live in a large plastic tote box and two plastic bags in the closet of my art room.

I left plenty of openings for air holes.

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth and rending of garments and did I mention the wailing, we had a nice long discussion about responsibilities and respect and out-of-whack priorities and how there will be no "stuffies" returned unless some things change, and then they'd only come back one at a time, as payment for a job well done.

sigh.

I don't want to be the mean mama. But something's gotta give, here, people.

So now, after finishing math and helping me walk the dogs, they're sitting here at the table drawing pictures.

Of the stuffies.

that I stole.

from them.

At least they've stopped crying.