As penance for sneaking away to play with a neighbor's chickens, my girls among other things have to mop the floor.
Their squealing giggles call me in to check on them. Instead of mop solution, they used dish soap. . . half a bottle of pink dish soap. They skate, they slide, they twist and fall. Their sorrow seems sincere, don't you think?
Absolutely! I love the way you find delight in the daily miracles of mothering. I wish I could have read your blog years ago when I was raising my children!
ReplyDeleteI've always thought that would be fun- (both the previous post and this)
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