The Brady Bunch.



or maybe not.



The boys wrestling in 2007. 



When I first sat down tonight

I wanted to write something

inspiring and uplifting.

But I'm just not feeling it.

This is not one of those feel good posts.

And this is why.

                

My kids have fought all night.

                                              They've argued over everything under the sun.

Here's some of the things they've argued about tonight:

Who hit who while playing basketball in their bedroom.

         

          

The dinner plans for Owen's birthday.

 Whose stuff was left in the floor and why they shouldn't have to pick it up.

Olivia blabbed to all the world that Meghan got hair extensions.

(Well, she blabbed it to everyone at church, I'm blabbing to all the world.)

 And apparently no one knows how to shred the cheese.  Cut it, but not shred it.

( And that's all I'm gonna say about that.)

Somebody was shanked.

And someone doesn't know how to speak proper english.

One fight even lead to serious threats of bodily harm.

                                

I tuned out all of the other arguments.

It's a defense mechanism.

I've got it down to a fine art.

The next bit of useful info should be a

 public service announcement

provided by one of my dear, sweet, children

whose name rhymes with Sosh.

"If you do squats your hips will be smaller."

And now we know why the Old Lady in a Shoe whipped

them all soundly and sent them to bed.