In case you're wondering what I've been up to lately . . .
But seriously, I'm cutting back my posts to once a week.
If my baby isn't enough, perhaps the following story will convince you.
It was a phrase every mother dreads hearing. Unfortunately, it was delivered in an unusual way.
Dancing from one foot to the next, my seven-year old wrings his hands. "Um, Mom. I think maybe there's been a fire."
"What!" I roar. "Where!"
"In my room."
Silently cursing our multilevel house, I rush down three flights of stairs. In his room, I find black soot dripping from the walls--evidence of an obvious clean up. The outlet is smeared black.
I let out a silent sigh of relief and round on said seven-year old. "What did you do?"
The dancing and hand twisting began again. "Um, I was, like, playing with my dog-tag chain, and it, um, flew through the air and landed on the metal thingies that go in their." He points at the outlet, where a prongs stuck halfway out like a petulant child sticking out it's tongue.
"And the chain just happened to land on the prongs that just happened to be sticking out?"
We played this back and forth game a few more times before he finally told me the truth. With a big sigh, he began, "You know when R2D2 breaks the chain with his shock thingy, I wanted to see if I could break my chain with the electricity from the house."
George Lucas, sometimes I'd like to strangle you! Suppressing an eye roll, I proceeded to ground my son from everything Star Wars for a week.
So you see, unless I want my house burned down, I better be more vigilant.