Maybe I’m a mean mom. I expect my children to actually help out around the house. Their jobs are easy: pick up your toys, put your dirty laundry in the right place, wind the cord on the vaccuum, swish your dish…. but lately The Rooster, who is nearing 6 (and hormones, I swear!) has one excuse after another why she just *whine* can’t *whine* pick up her shoe *whine* on the stairs. *whine + fake cry*
So, as I come here to make an excuse for my blogging absense, I am forced to tell myself the same thing I told The Rooster just 5 minutes ago:
Me: Rooster, can you pick up your dress up clothes so I can vaccuum? (the vac is running)
Rooster: pretends she can’t hear me
Me: Rooster, please, hurry, I’ll suck them up if you don’t bust your buns.
Rooster: I don’t care if you suck them up, then I can go buy new ones.
Me: If I suck them up, you will never have dress-up clothes again.
Rooster: Well, they don’t fit me, that means they aren’t mine anyways, they’re all Tootsies, so you need to buy me some new stuff, probably today.
Me: Rooster, pick them up. (the vaccuum is still running)
Rooster: *whine* But I didn’t play with them! (she’s wearing 4 necklaces, fuzzy slippers and a sequin and tuille skirt.)
Me: Rooster! Now!! Stop making excuses! Excuses are like rear ends, they stink and you’re being a stinker. Hurry up or the Gobbler is coming out.
Rooster: I didn’t toot Mom! (real live fake tears)
Ooooh, and all this time I thought I had no good blog fodder.











