"We Don't Even Have Any Chickens!"

I'm a sadistic mother.  I know this because sometimes when my daughter sobs I have to walk away to laugh.

Only when she's crying about the really big stuff--like her hair, the weather, her shoes, breakfast...those types of things.

And please keep in mind that when Sara Head cries, she sobs.  Gut-wrenching, shoulder-shaking, face-scrunched-up-beyond-recognition sobs.  When she's crying about something truly sad, this is a pitiful sight.  But sometimes, she enters your room looking as if her world is crumbling, and you console her, and between deep breaths and tears she chokes out broken phrases.  And sometimes you put them together and suddenly the absurdity of the reaction is just too much.

And you turn away to stifle the laughter.

This morning, we were cleaning the house.  We had told the girls to clean their room about 55 times in one hour, sending them back after each escape attempt.  They were running out of tricks and things they had to tell us, and it was looking as if they might actually have to pick something up off of the floor if they were ever going to get to emerge.

Here she came.  Wailing:  "Mommy!  Hallie isn't helping me clean up!"
Me:  "I'm sorry, Sara.  Tell her she has to help."
S, incredulous:  "But mommy!  She says she won't help because she has to feed the chickens!"
Me: quizzical look
S, waving her arms to emphasize the injustice:  "And we don't even HAVE any chickens!"


I blinked as Hallie's strategy became clear.  I saw in my mind Hallie explaining the division of labor to Sara--"Sara, you clean the room.  I'll feed the chickens."

And Sara realized she'd been had.