Yesterday, my kids fell off the wagon so to speak. Specifically, they went a whole four days--a family record--without indulging in their favorite vice. Ultimately, however, the temptation grew too strong for even the most self-disciplined to bear.
"Turn me on for just one minute," it begged whenever they passed by. "Maybe two."
"The driveway is thirsty," it pleaded a little louder after the initial invitations were ignored. "Give it just a little drink."
Over time, the commands grew more forceful and the consequences for disobeying more severe.
"Take all of your mom's Tupperware containers out of the kitchen and fill them up. Then dump them out. Then fill them up again.... If you don't, I won't be your friend."
I was making dinner last night when I heard my favorite combination of things: running water and dead silence.
When I went opened the front door to investigate, I found a roving typhoon.
"Watch out!" yelled Camber as she ran past me. The warning came just as I was hit in the face by a gush of water. Several gallons, or so it seemed, pushed past me, flooding the foyer floor.
"Oops," said Kellen. "That wasn't supposed to hit you," he explained.
I'll leave the rest of this story to your imagination.
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