We were at a party/reception for Shannon's brother and new sister-in-law tonight and trying to keep track of the boys. It was at a house out in the country and the boys were playing outside with some of the other kids there.
At one point I tracked them down, my boys and three or four other little kids, and found them tearing apart the landscaping in front of the house. They were digging out the gravel and throwing it onto the sidewalk and into the air conditioner. I yelled at them, "Brennan! Tanner! Elijah! Graham!" (which together sounds like a hundred syllables escaping from my mouth in one quick burst). "What are you doing?! You get over here right now!"
I was livid that they were tearing up that landscaping, but I'd also seen that the other children were doing just as much damage as my kids.
As I marched my four off to a solemn time-out, a little girl, one of the ringleaders whom I had caught red-handed, said, "My name is Brooklyn. I'm not really very bad. My mommy let's me do whatever I want."
Really? It doesn't show.
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