Can't. Stop. Laughing.

We may or may not have a pile of laundry taller than WHM at the foot of our bed. 

But if we did, Mick would probably tell the kids more than once to get out of our room and stop playing with the laundry.

And then, when he and I were putting new sheets on WHM's bed*, Mick might have yelled down the hall to CAM, "GET OUT OF MY ROOM!"

And then WHM might have come to Mick and said, "Daddy, that's not nice.  Don't be angry.  Don't yell at CAM.  Say you're sorry."

And Mick might have said in response, "I wasn't yelling at CAM."

And WHM might have insisted, "Say you're sorry."

And Mick might have said, "I am sorry that you think I was yelling at CAM."

And WHM might have pressed on, "No, say sorry to CAM."

And Mick might have said, "I'm sorry that you think I need to say I'm sorry to CAM."

And I may or may not have bent my body over the bed rail and put my head onto WHM's bed to prevent the kids from seeing me laugh, because that would undermine Mick, but because of my cold and my completely stuffed head, I may have looked like I was sobbing and sounded like a dying hyena.  And CAM may have then finally stopped playing with the laundry just to come and ask, "Mommy, why are you crying?"

And WHM may have told Mick to say "sorry."

But I'm still so busy laughing at the whole thing I can't say for sure what happened.

--Jen


*a two-person project whenever possible because both sides of his bed have those bed rails to prevent him from rolling off, and so you can't just lift the mattress to tuck the corners or else both bed rails lose their opposite-side-of-the-bed "tie-down anchors" and all hell breaks loose and it takes an hour to make a bed for a two-year-old.

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