Scratch that. "Son of a #$%@!"

Better said, this post should be labeled When it rains it pours or What it looks like when the CRAP hits the fan, or Three Reasons a poly-style beating on your kids is okay. 

That may sound harsh, but I'm sure by the end of this post you'll understand my point.

TWO WEEKS AGO:

I walked in from outside, having just gardened the front yard while the kids watched a PBS show. In the kitchen I found Theodore (a.k.a. the Destroyer) with a lovely walnut-sized seashell in his hand.

"Whatcha' doing?" I asked.

He promptly hid the shell behind his back and gave me a sly grin. "Nothing, momma."

I narrowed my eyes on him, knowing without a doubt that this little three year old was, in fact, LYING! A quick glance around the kitchen confirmed my suspicions. The fridge beheld the work of Teddy and his lovely little shell.

"Son of a *%*$!"

Ok, so I didn't say all that, but I wanted to. And I'm telling you, Mark (the hottie-hubby) doesn't get mad easily, but this little act sure did test his patience. Teddy was sent to his room to think about how rubbing a sharp shell on a stainless steel fridge is NOT EVER a good thing. 

ONE WEEK AND TWO DAYS AGO:

Mark and I finally splurged and chucked our static-cursed T.V. purchased at a yardsale in '99, for a beautiful 42" LCD flatscreen. Oh how we love it.

TWO DAYS AGO: 

I attended a baby blessing with just the two older boys. When I came home I found Mark standing outside on the driveway with his fists clenched and a murderous look drawn tight across his face.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked.

"I can't go inside or I will kill him."

"Who?"

Mark raised an eyebrow that ended our conversation. I suddenly knew exactly who he was talking about. I had left Mark home with Teddy and Ruby.

I raced inside to find tear-stained Teddy with his knees pulled tightly to his chest.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I play with little skateboard on TV," he said in a small voice.

"You. Did. WHAT?"

Oh, you better believe a few choice words were dropped like a bomb. And for the rest of the day, Teddy cleaned every nook and cranny I could find with lysol wipes to teach him that scratching brand new TVs with a mini-skate board is NEVER a good thing.

TODAY:

Back in Black rang out in the library before I could silence my cell phone.

"Hello?" I answered in a hushed tone.

It was Mark. He told me that he'd come home for lunch. Mr. Peacock from next door stopped by and wanted to speak to him. Apparently, while the Peacocks were out of town, and their beautiful new Acura was parked in their driveway, someone marked it. How, you ask. It appeared to be by bicycle handle-bars. Say, about the size of a bicycle my DEVIL kids might ride.

Oh, YES! 

You know what's coming, right?

After a bit of prodding I dug the truth from my two oldest sons. George and Henry rode their bikes in the Peacock's driveway because ours had been a pile of rubble last week. While circling the Peacock's new sleek Acura, Henry dodged a rock. And the cost of skirting around the offending rock was paid in a long scratch that runs from one end of the car to the other.

Awesome, I know.

There will be no pictures of the lovely Acura, because at this point I can't even look at my kids, let alone snap a shot of my neighbor's vehicle. 

So you see, when it rains it pours.