Gold or Garbage

The other day my hormones were a little wacked. At least that's where I would like to place the blame for the following:

We were in the Costco parking lot, walking into the store, when Madeline accidentally stepped on the back of Raleigh's flip flop. Raleigh started freaking out, acting like her world was crashing down, and I said, "Why don't you just smash her face on the pavement and see how bloody it gets?"

Then she and Madeline both looked at me like this:

And after a good long pause, I was like, "You know I wouldn't really want you to do that, right?"

I think they were both unsure for at least the next 20 minutes, and we had sparkling behavior from both of them. But they were a little afraid of me.

The next day I made up for it. They were in the other room (all three), playing dress-up and having a "fancy ball," and I knew they wouldn't want to come eat lunch when I asked them. So I got out an index card and sent them a "special invitation" to a "royal luncheon at 11:45 am" after they had cleaned up their "royal mess." Unfortunately, the royal cook ran a little late and I was called names like "servant" and so forth, but their mess was cleaned up, and the fancy ladies couldn't care less about what I served for the luncheon. The ham sandwiches, carrots, and grapes never tasted better!

As I remember reading on my friend Ashley's blog: "Are my words gold or garbage?" when I speak to my children. Obviously, a little of both. Just working to keep more gold in our house this summer!