Here’s Why the Kids Are Plotting My Demise:

So I made them clean up the first floor of our house while I took a shower this morning. That’s right: they were cleaning up ON SPRING BREAK. And each kid came upstairs at various points to ask me random, pointless, I’m-just-avoiding-cleaning-up questions, all of which I rebuffed. Then I came downstairs, saw them all watching TV, and said, “Well, you aren’t finished at all. The dishwasher needs to be emptied, the kitchen is still a mess, I’m going to get a trash bag and throw out everything you leave on the floor after five minutes.” And then, five minutes later, I proceeded to do just that– with freaking Easter pencils and plastic tops, so do not even feel any sympathy for them– while they protested vociferously and ran around trying to protect things.

Then I came across the local paper on the kitchen table. “Hey!!” I said in a bright tone. “Look at this: a World’s Greatest Mom essay contest!!! Who wants to write an essay about me?”

Then I had to work to keep a straight face while they tried to kill me with the force of their combined will.

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