The Rules

It seems that I got a little sidetracked with the Thanksgiving holiday and sufficiently neglected this blog. Such is the life of this mama: a week late, several dollars short, and more kids than hands. I probably should be giving myself props for just making it to New Jersey and back with all of my children accounted for but being thankful for things is soooo November. It's December now and the rules are changing.

Rule #1: No more public performances during naptime.
Just because people tell you that your three year-old is very mature, it does not mean that she will hold it together for an entire production of The Nutcracker. It took a meltdown during intermission at Lincoln Center and a subsequent walking tantrum on 8th Avenue to get us to rethink things.

Rule #2: Everyone is responsible for taking care of their own wedgies.
Vivi came up with this one and I can't agree more. I will feed you and I will love you. On occasion, I may even wipe your tush but I draw the line at removing your panties from your butt-crack.

Rule #3: If you don't finish it, don't worry. Mama is the "garbage ass-posale."
Yes, it's true. If you don't finish your supper, Mama will. This isn't exactly a new rule but certainly one that bears repeating. And Vivi likes to repeat "ass-posale."

Rule #4: Santa can see you.
If you are thinking of stealing the chocolates out of the advent calendar or waking your little sisters up from a nap, you better watch out. Santa knows everything. No, I don't know how he knows but he just does. That's why it is magic.

Rule #5: Shoes off in the house.
Hey, just because it is nearly 70 degrees in Rhode Island on December 3 does not mean that you get to track crud into the house. For the first time since the Turtles were born, the entire house is clean (thanks to our wonderful cleaning lady) and it is Mama and Mama only who gets to make the mess. (Or roll around naked on the freshly-washed floors while hooting with delight.)

Got it?

Good.

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