There's been some kind of early Christmas miracle around here, y'all.
My kids are getting ... older.
Now, I'm not saying that they're suddenly so mature that nothing crazy happens around this joint. After all, it was just a few weeks ago that I discovered a water gun full of PEE stashed in their closet. And I still have trouble keeping any of them dressed. And their favorite thing to play lately is a little game they call, "Surprise, You've Got Tetanus!" No, there's no shortage of shenanigans here.
But lately there have been little developments that let me know they're - gasp! - approaching independence. Colin, for example, has been taking his own showers. And he enjoys letting his brothers in there with him. So he's been bathing himself, Cameron, and Coby everysingleday for the past two weeks or so. Which frees up at least twenty minutes of my evening! .....
... to do more laundry, or clean up from dinner, or something else equally exciting. But hey.
And you wanna know the second sign of independence? The one that really says something?
They've left. The Christmas tree. ALONE.
If you've been reading The Frump for a while, you know that I struggle with this every holiday season. I'm all picky about my Christmas tree - and for what? Within less than 24 hours it looks like an elephant tried to hide in its branches, thanks to my kids, and my dogs, oh and my cats too. See for yourself.
But this year ... this year ... the tree has been up for five days so far, and everyone has actually stayed out of it!
... Well, except for Meeko. (Which you would already know if you followed me on Instagram.)
I suppose I should enjoy it while it lasts, because this time next year Corbin will be a year and a half old and terrorizing the tree all by himself. But maybe just one pair of curious little hands won't do too much damage.
Hey, a girl can hope.