Let me introduce you to the Baby Girl. She was as cute as the dickens when we brought her home...all long shiny black hair with bright blue eyes. Peaceful, she was. Slept through the night early on...WIN! And then she turned two.
Our big kids, as we call them, never went through the terrible twos. Matter of fact, I thought other parents were a bunch of wusses. Looking back, I had been given a gift. It's like God looked at me and said, "You unappreciative jackass! How dare you challenge me!" They were very agreeable children. Oh, the memories.
Here was how our evening began...
Baby Girl wants into Brother's room, but (because she destroys everything in her path like an F5 tornado) he doesn't want her to come in...rightfully so. He gives her a little push out the door and then locks it. Now, at this point, most children would cry. They might come crying to mommy. What does my child do? She begins a gnashing and wailing fit for a murder scene.
Now before you think she has deep-seated issues and should start therapy immediately, it's what follows that puts the icing on the cake....She cries deep, sobbing cries...She runs down the stairs screaming my name....and then she tells me..."Brother bit me!" I look at her sweet, chubby little hand and it is red and there are indeed teeth marks. How dare he!
I scream bloody hell for Brother to come downstairs right now. It must be said that he can't tell a lie if his life depended on it. His face gives it all away. When I confronted him with that cherubic face and sweet little hand, I could see the truth all over his face...he didn't do it. Not a snowball's chance in Hades did he do this.
My gaze drifts back to the little angel I had lovingly carried in my womb and given birth to, and she is grinning from ear to ear. She says so earnestly, "No, brother do it." And she is lying through her cute little chiclet teeth. I take a more investigative look at that sweet cherub hand and do a quick gauge of the size of the imprint. So help me, she bit herself to get Brother in trouble. For real
At this point, we either have a criminal mastermind or a creative genius on our hands. Bless our hearts.