For those who haven't heard the verb "fibricating" before, this is the word I prefer to use for small lies, or fibs, that also include some added embellishment, or fabrication. James has been devoting some of his excessive energy to fibricating. For example, I'll ask, "Did you hit Ali in the eye with that toy?" And he will say, "No, she did it to her own self. I think she ran her face into the wall or maybe the floor." Of course, thanks to a growing vocabulary and better enunciation, Ali can set the record straight, unless she wants to fibricate too.
Today, I was upstairs taking care of Phil-a-Buster, and I heard something hitting the kitchen floor. Now, I have had tons of experience with chocolate in most of its forms, and I can definitely identify the sound of M&Ms hitting the floor with a delicious patter. So I call to James, and he comes upstairs. Then I ask him if he and Ali are eating M&Ms. James says emphatically, "No, we're eating oyster crackers." Rather than let James know about my super power regarding chocolate landing on the floor, I decide to ask Ali if they are eating M&Ms. She then tells me, "Yes, they all gone now in my tummy."
The following is a picture of the perpetrators with their booty. I had to re-create the scene because as Ali said, those M&Ms were all gone in her tummy. Also, don't worry about punishment. They both served time in their room, which gave me some much needed alone time.
I don't want to leave Phil out of this post because he is often forgotten in pictures (and for those people saying, "ha, just pictures," you can just keep your rude, but true, comments to yourself). Here is a picture of him with his trademark drool string hanging from his mouth. I know that most babies drool, but I have had two other kids, and they never drooled as much as this kid. I feel like I should have all my clothes waterproofed just to hold him. My carpet is littered with drool land mines, and I really hate getting my socks wet, and then my socks stick to my feet, and then I'm all annoyed, and I have to scream into my pillow. Sorry about getting sidetracked. Here's the picture.
(Don't go chasing waterfalls, Phil. We don't need you raising your drool bar any higher.)
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