Jul 11, 2008
Of course, right after I write a post about how great kids are, how I want another one, and how it would be really great, the universe sees fit to remind me that while kids can be great, they can also be REALLY TERRIBLE.
The girls were outside playing while I was working, and Bryan was mowing the lawn. After they've been playing out there for some time, Bryan comes into where I'm working to deliver The News. The News being that Phoebe was throwing rocks in the air (not to be confused with throwing rocks at a specific person or object) and one of them may have collided with the windshield of the neighbor's car, resulting in a crack. He hastens to explain that the rocks were being thrown IN THE AIR, not AT the car, but it makes no difference.
I turn purple, and can't decide whether to cry, or yell.
So Phoebe was in tears, Marissa was trying to hide, I was livid, and Bryan was slowly stepping back from me, the volcano that was about to erupt all over his ass. After I vented my anger and frustration even Charlie was apologizing, so I figure they got the message.
When the neighbors came home Bryan and Phoebe took off to confess, and it turned out that the windshield has been broken since October. Good times. At least Phoebe has learned not to ever throw a rock, ever, ever, ever, ever again. Fine.
A little while later (not long enough for anyone to have recovered from the windshield event) Charlie runs out in the middle of the street, in front of a van, hurtling down the road. Bryan had to yell at the top of his lungs to get her to stop (he never yells, so it was enough to stop her in her tracks) and disaster was narrowly averted.
So, no more rocks, no more crossing the street. Hell, no more walking. If you need us, we'll be sitting on our hands on the couch, not touching anything. Ever. Again.
