Upstairs

Why? Why would I go upstairs (where all the boys live)? Why would I go upstairs before 9 in the morning? Before fully caffeinated!?

I have no idea. Genuinely do not remember why I went up, but I know why I came back down.

It is shameful up there. Really. Truly. Bad. Rather... it was.

Today, at V Academy was a life lesson day. Hours of practical application home economics.

Here, Piggy Piggy...

While looking about on the interwebs a few days ago, I came across a truly genius idea.

As fabulously beautiful, genius, and generally amazing as my children are, there is a tendancy to not always have the best table manners.  Bring in, little piggy.  This plastic pig was once a part of a farm set that has long been fogotten.  He now sits in the center of the dining room table, waiting.

When anyone (yes, including Mr. & myself), show bad manners at the table, they get the pig.  It is then handed off to the next offender.  Whomever is left holding the pig at the end of the meal, must clear the table of everyone's dishes

Now, before you start an email campaign to tell me how I'm going to ruin their fragile little self-esteems, know that they are ages 9-14.  I've already ruined them.  You're too late.  But thank you for caring ;-)