Yep, those are matches.
And still these two acts of evil danger come nowhere near to what it was like to try to keep her brothers alive at this age.
Worst day I can remember? Yeah, that's the one where I found the oldest Man Boy (about 2 1/2 at the time) digging through my sewing box playing with needles. Good one. So I sent him out to the backyard to play so that I could find them all and put them away. Cleaned up the needles. Told myself what a nightmare I was for leaving them in a box he could find, went to the kitchen.
Heard the sound of breaking glass in the backyard. Found him outside throwing glasses onto the cement. Went to save him--and his brother--from the shards of glass all over the ground and found him covered in red. Thought it was blood.
Turned out to be red nailpolish he's swiped from my bathroom drawer.
This was one morning, ladies. A single morning. And where was the 1 year little brother the whole time? Watching I think, but I really couldn't tell you because raising two boys 18 months apart totally obliterated my memory of their actual childhood--apart from the occasional disaster vignette . I think I started actually cacheing memories when they were like 3 1/2 and 5.
And no the big boy doesn't go to some special school for angry boys. I think he just liked to see me run around with a mortified look on my face.
And apparently she does too.
