I work about 25 hours a week at my “real job”. By real job, I mean the one that requires me to wear pants and not use the computer and/or send people to their rooms. I keep this job because it has beer and snacks and I enjoy cash money. Those 25 hours are spread out over Friday, Saturday, and Sunday and during this time, the kids go buck wild up in this b.

Because Jeff is in charge.

By the time I walk in the door Sunday afternoon, the house is destroyed, something has overflowed, and every damn dish we own is dirty.

Seriously, Jeff can mess up five kitchen items just by making a sandwich.

I have few rules for them while I am gone, mostly don’t stab each other and only call me at work if it is directly related to someone’s blood sugar and any questions you might have. Or if anyone has been stabbed. Even then, fingers crossed they have the common sense to dial 911 first (they don’t).

One of the few rules is Don’t Touch Mom’s Stuff. And stay out of the office.

When I walked in the door Sunday, Troy and Jeff are napping on the couch and Zoe was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by my 24 pack of SHARPIES and drawing on various items she had gathered FROM THE OFFICE.

If you have children, you know Sharpies are the equivalent of handing them a flamethrower and saying, “Here you go, fuck it alllll up real good“. Shit will go down in a nanosecond with a kid/Sharpie combo, trust.

Zoe swore to me that she only got the Sharpies out after Troy (and Jeff) went to sleep and stayed at the table with them the whole time.

And when I saw what she was working on? I couldn’t get mad.

Because Zoe brought jokes.

And probably has a successful future in marketing.