Rock. Painters...Figures.

What can we do now, Mom?

I picked the kids up from preschool and took them to the park. We played chase. I pitched baseballs. I pushed them on this weird rotating wheel thing that makes them scream with joy, but makes me want to hurl. We had lunch. I worked up a sweat and scored some points as World's Greatest Mom.

Or, so I thought.

Five hours of straight stimulation and the kids wanted more. I, of course, was tired. And, my deodorant was failing I thought, WWSD*? I remembered how my Mom sent my niece and nephew into her backyard to play a riveting game of "pick up sticks." She literally had them collecting branches off the lawn, racing to see who could grab twigs faster.

Brilliant.

I debated holding a dusting race inside the house, but the weather was too nice. Plus, I actually think my kids are smarter than that. So, I went more subtle. Something that would remain within my WiFi's reach, but keep them occupied so I could Google random stuff like "Miss California and pictures and disqualify."

"We're painting rocks!" I yelled. They looked at me like I was nuts. But, I sold it hard and they bought it. We weren't going to be painting any nansy-pansy pebbles. We were going for broke and brushing up the big-ass boulders along-side the house.

I gave them paint, paint brushes and promised not to yell. I reneged on the last part when they threatened to touch-up my neighbor's fence. Stick to the plan, kids.

When they were finished, they decided to show off the Renoir rocks. Mike pretended it was awesome, but told me it was more like graffiti. Oh no. Our property value just plummeted. And, my friend with a FOSBO across the street is gonna sic block watch on my gangsta family.

Time to do a rain dance.


Mike surveys the damage.


*What would Shobha do?