Our kids have been wild lately. After 5:30 p.m. it's bedlam around here. Running, jumping, yelling, etc. I'm ready to leave the house to the rebels and move somewhere else...Ireland still sounds nice.
The other night their ever patient and long suffering dad told them in that dangerously quiet voice to go run upstairs. I love my house but sometimes it would be nice to have a basement...that's bigger than a root cellar and couldn't be confused with a dungeon. Ours has hand-hewn beams, stone walls, and uninvited guests. Ugh!
This morning they got out the play-dough. Ministering angels must have appeared to polish their halos last night while they slept. They played for about an hour without fighting (once they conceded that the household Official Ruiner of Playdough should be granted ONE can so she could play but couldn't mix colors), had a wonderful time, and cleaned up their mess, put it away without being told, and SWEPT THE FLOOR.
They made their own family.
This is their playdough bathroom. Don't ask! I don't want those halos tarnishing too quickly.
Of course, the peaceful playdough session was followed by a return to normalcy. This is Little Red Riding Hood, Little Blue Riding Hood, and Little Plaid Riding Hood being chased by the Big, Bad Wolf.
Guess how long Big, Bad Wolf was happy chasing around the Hoods? Yep, we're back to normal.