I really try not to talk about all my children's naughtinesses. Primarily, I think it's unkind. But also, sadly, there are not enough hours in the day to get it all down. There are times, however, that something is so funny I just have write about it.
My kids don't drink much pop. It's very much a treat in our household. I needed some a few weeks ago for a Jello salad I made for a church dinner, so I bought a 12-pack of a Seven-up knock-off. I used two cans and the rest is supposed to be sitting under my bed, but it's instead just kind of stacked up in the heaps of stuff in my room waiting to be put away. It's been sitting there at eye level for the little ones, tempting them to sneak. I have so far only found one empty can squirreled away, but I really need to get the pop put in a more secure location.
I also have a 2 liter bottle of Raspberry Ginger Ale left over from the punch for Jeremy's graduation open houses. That bottle had been in a tote bag in the hallway; and yes, like so many other things in my life, it was waiting to be put away. Two or three days ago, I moved it into my bedroom for "safe keeping."
Let me explain here a little bit about our house design. Because the planners of the parsonage wanted to include a handicapped accessible shower in the main bathroom, the only tub in our home is in the master bedroom. Any time a little one needs a bath, he or she must wend his or her way through The Labyrinth of Mom's Disorder. And directly along this route is where I put the left over bottle of Ginger Ale. Alas for Stella!
Joe was in the kitchen yesterday and heard from the open doorway of our room the familiar sound of a 2 liter bottle being opened. He got up to investigate, and was met by Stella, coming quickly from our room, looking all intentionlly innocent. You know the look: the hands behind the back, eyes upward, just strolling along, usually accompanied by a nonchalant hum or whistle.
But Stella did the act one better. Instead of the nonchalant hum or whistle, she added a periodic, "Chhhht," sound, in attempted imitation of the familiar sound of a 2 liter bottle being opened.
"What's up, Stella?" Joe asked.
"Nothing, Dad. I'm just walking around saying, "Chhhht."