We are not the kind of house that operates under the structure of rules. I'll start with that. We remind each other to be polite and encourage the kids to pick up their messes. But there are no general regulations. Not usually. Routines, yes. Rules, not so much.
But last night Loretta inspired a set of house rules. Within the course of an hour. All the while smiling that head-tilted, cheeky little smile of hers that says to us, "Ain't I a stinker?" A smile Rob and I literally turn and run from because smiling back can only encourage her. Right?
She's a thrill chaser in a family of peaceful easies. Sometimes that's a delight. Sometimes it's like, "Why?! Are?! You?! Crazy?!" Anyways...
Rule 1. Be nice to each other. That's all. Let's all do this always. Politeness rules.
Rule 2. No pooping in your pants on purpose.
Rule 3. No bath tub sploshing of water onto the old, cracked-linoleum floor of our 101 year old rental. Sploshing is strictly forbidden and your washcloth and bath cups will be confiscated. No amount of histrionic crying, screaming, and arm waving into the eyes of your delighted-to-be-having-a-fit reflection on the wall mirror will change our minds. We are onto you.
Rule 4. No ruining. Books, games, flash cards, and other toys ruined on purpose will be immediately ejected from the premises. In fact, actually, ruin away. Tossing junk out of our chaos pile is super therapeutic for Mama.
I suppose to be proper I should couch these rules in terms of, "Instead of..." And ps. who am I even kidding? There are no rules. This girl just tests my everything. She is the brightest little ball of sunshine and the biggest pain in the ass. And dudes, with the pooping. THAT IS A PHASE I WAS NOT EXPECTING.