Grace Beyond Belief
Dearest Middle Little,
You have got to be joking, right?!! Pranking me somehow. It's all I can came up with at 4:15 am when I walk downstairs to find you happily creating some concoction in my Kitchen Aid with the house lit up like a Christmas tree. Seriously, I think the Nichols could have used the glow from our house to read books to, if they were insane enough to be up at this time of night, errr...day. Whatever. Apparently it wasn't enough for you to scare the pants off me last Sunday by sneaking around the house, creaking on floor boards, waking me up from a deep sleep, only to be terrified that we have an intruder in the house. But no, it was only you standing in the doorway of my bedroom with your brothers bedroom light shining down on you, casting a shadow that made you look like a man 6 feet tall.
I suppose the terror and frustration I expressed to you wasn't enough to deter you from taking yourself on a little post-midnight tour of the house tonight, and attempt to make yourself a quick snack. Where in the world did you learn to cook? I know Meema taught you better.
Cocoa powder, syrup, water, baking powder, and sugar. Dude, you needed some flour at least. But I think you recognized that early on when you decided to sample the cocoa powder. I bet it looked a lot better than it tasted. The dried cocoa paste around your mouth and smeared across your forehead was what clued me in. I suppose I should be thankful you don't know much about the baking benefits that eggs can afford. What a surprise it must have been for you when you turned on the mixer, only to have it spray sugary powder EVERYWHERE. Were you scared? Were you pleased? I'm thinking by this point you were most likely just a wee bit nervous that I might find out about your little shenanigans. Did you think to come and get me before getting in over your head, or did you honestly think that spritzing Spray-n-Wash all over the mix on the floor would do the trick? You must not have been pleased with the result, seeing as you used no less than 8 towels to cover the mess on the floor. And a couple of pillows. What's up with that? Everyone knows pillows are not a culinary tool. Not a classic one at least.
The baking, with supervision, is something I can get behind, but the trail of marshmallows leading to the bathroom? Gross, just gross. Who eats food in the bathroom? And who would ever think it wise to drag the syrup in there? Were the pure sugar mallows not enough to satisfy you? At least get yourself a bowl next time.
I'm slightly at a loss as of what to do. Everyone else seems to accept that when I say stay in bed I mean it. I do mean it. With every fiber of my being, I mean it. The security camera pointed directly at your bed should clue you into the fact that you can't be trusted, but something tells me you know even I can't monitor that all through the night.
And when that wasn't enough, I took your ladder. How, in the name of all that is good, are you getting down?!! We have yet to catch you in the act. Are you the same boy who has been diagnosed with severe double jointedness? The same one who can't even jump down from the van? The very one who is super nervous when doing anything tricky that might rely on keen balance? I suppose you only acquire your ninja super powers at night. Heaven help us all!
Oh, look at you up there in that photo 2 hours after the fact, sleeping like a baby. Why can't I just drift back to sweet slumber? Perhaps it was the hour clean up. Maybe it's the fact that even after cleaning the floors, I still ended up in bed with granules of sugar stuck to my feet. I don't think I can keep doing this. Just because you will be extra tired in the morning and want to sleep in does not mean your 4 siblings will. Well, perhaps the teenagers will want to, but that's not the point. I value my sleep. My me time. My "off-duty" time, but you are proving more and more that there is no such thing. Ever.
And so, my dear sweet child, I am off to research door alarms. I might not be able to keep you in your bed, and I might not be superhuman enough to watch the monitor through the night, but I can find a way to catch you before you create a mess wandering through our home. I am just thankful you haven't decided to take yourself on an outside midnight stroll.
At least not that I know of.
Love,
Your ever-loving Mama
p.s. I am not all that happy with you right now
You have got to be joking, right?!! Pranking me somehow. It's all I can came up with at 4:15 am when I walk downstairs to find you happily creating some concoction in my Kitchen Aid with the house lit up like a Christmas tree. Seriously, I think the Nichols could have used the glow from our house to read books to, if they were insane enough to be up at this time of night, errr...day. Whatever. Apparently it wasn't enough for you to scare the pants off me last Sunday by sneaking around the house, creaking on floor boards, waking me up from a deep sleep, only to be terrified that we have an intruder in the house. But no, it was only you standing in the doorway of my bedroom with your brothers bedroom light shining down on you, casting a shadow that made you look like a man 6 feet tall.
I suppose the terror and frustration I expressed to you wasn't enough to deter you from taking yourself on a little post-midnight tour of the house tonight, and attempt to make yourself a quick snack. Where in the world did you learn to cook? I know Meema taught you better.
Cocoa powder, syrup, water, baking powder, and sugar. Dude, you needed some flour at least. But I think you recognized that early on when you decided to sample the cocoa powder. I bet it looked a lot better than it tasted. The dried cocoa paste around your mouth and smeared across your forehead was what clued me in. I suppose I should be thankful you don't know much about the baking benefits that eggs can afford. What a surprise it must have been for you when you turned on the mixer, only to have it spray sugary powder EVERYWHERE. Were you scared? Were you pleased? I'm thinking by this point you were most likely just a wee bit nervous that I might find out about your little shenanigans. Did you think to come and get me before getting in over your head, or did you honestly think that spritzing Spray-n-Wash all over the mix on the floor would do the trick? You must not have been pleased with the result, seeing as you used no less than 8 towels to cover the mess on the floor. And a couple of pillows. What's up with that? Everyone knows pillows are not a culinary tool. Not a classic one at least.
The baking, with supervision, is something I can get behind, but the trail of marshmallows leading to the bathroom? Gross, just gross. Who eats food in the bathroom? And who would ever think it wise to drag the syrup in there? Were the pure sugar mallows not enough to satisfy you? At least get yourself a bowl next time.
I'm slightly at a loss as of what to do. Everyone else seems to accept that when I say stay in bed I mean it. I do mean it. With every fiber of my being, I mean it. The security camera pointed directly at your bed should clue you into the fact that you can't be trusted, but something tells me you know even I can't monitor that all through the night.
And when that wasn't enough, I took your ladder. How, in the name of all that is good, are you getting down?!! We have yet to catch you in the act. Are you the same boy who has been diagnosed with severe double jointedness? The same one who can't even jump down from the van? The very one who is super nervous when doing anything tricky that might rely on keen balance? I suppose you only acquire your ninja super powers at night. Heaven help us all!
Oh, look at you up there in that photo 2 hours after the fact, sleeping like a baby. Why can't I just drift back to sweet slumber? Perhaps it was the hour clean up. Maybe it's the fact that even after cleaning the floors, I still ended up in bed with granules of sugar stuck to my feet. I don't think I can keep doing this. Just because you will be extra tired in the morning and want to sleep in does not mean your 4 siblings will. Well, perhaps the teenagers will want to, but that's not the point. I value my sleep. My me time. My "off-duty" time, but you are proving more and more that there is no such thing. Ever.
And so, my dear sweet child, I am off to research door alarms. I might not be able to keep you in your bed, and I might not be superhuman enough to watch the monitor through the night, but I can find a way to catch you before you create a mess wandering through our home. I am just thankful you haven't decided to take yourself on an outside midnight stroll.
At least not that I know of.
Love,
Your ever-loving Mama
p.s. I am not all that happy with you right now
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