Cracked nipples. Sleep deprivation. Public tantrums. Our only reward is our children? Kidding. Mostly.
Why did the little brother inexplicably puncture the milk jug with a pencil? Why did the big sister write such a haughty note about it… yet not dispose of the milk herself? Why is the note written upside down on the paper? Why is there a dog hair stuck in the piece of tape? Why is the kitchen table so scratched?
We love our kids. They drive us crazy. We write about it instead of going insane.