And I was right. After one of the children had been grounded, I had lectured all three of them, and I found my hands in my hair, getting ready to pull hanks of it out by the roots, I got out the bubbles, because bubbles fix everything.
I'm not big on parenting books. Give me a real live fellow parent with actual conversation any day. Them I will listen to.
Aside from bubble meditation, we've been taking family forays to the driving range.
We have a new resident in our backyard.
This started as a regular ol' brush pile. It has been shaped and molded into a domicile complete with a tunnel running straight through it featuring front and back entrances. Our children swear they did not do this. Am I freaked out by this? YES. Yes, I am. The best possible answer to "Who built a house made out of weeds in our backyard?" is "Hobbits," but it's more likely "Grass demon who sneaks out of its creeping Charlie igloo and sits on the chests of our children at night and sucks the breath from their lips."
You know- something like this:
Um, Grandma? Why did we watch this movie at your house so often?
But seriously- what is living in our backyard?