Do you remember how cute and adorable Asher was last week at the farmer's market, all dolled up in his new monkey leash and curly, dew-dropped hair?
Yeah, well, that child is missing today. As are the other two. They have been replaced by ransacking criminals. And their parents are gone, too; we are their henchmen.
Contract killers of Saturday Morning Family Fun.
:: at least i got some good images before the sadness ::
I like to think I roll with the punches, that I bend down on one knee, look them in the eye, and firmly (yet softly) tell them their behaviour is a little wanting and I need their help in adhering to a more affirming family philosophy.
But I don't. We whisper fiercely through clenched teeth, grab an arm and sigh loud enough so there is no mistaking the foreshadowed consequence. We heave and pull and walk quickly to the exits. In fact, the only parent worth her metal is my mother, who keeps a smile and easy-going "You're doing grand" look on her face. She's got more experience, after all.
We are the amateurs.
So a morning of family fun has gone awry. This sometimes happens. Ok, this often happens.
Does this ever happen to you? How do you shake off the shame and frustration, and reconcile with your precious fam?
