It had been a particularly trying day. The children seemed bent on arguing every 10 minutes, despite my warnings of boarding school in the Siberian tundra. Chores were a hassle, school time was awful. I'd had it, and it was only 11am.
Later at the grocery store, (another exercise in patience), my last nerve was tingling. I can't begin to tell you how many times I hissed, "SssssTOP touching your SISsster!/BROTHErrr!/the doNUTSSSS!"
Finally, we'd made it to the checkout line. Trying desperately to control the pounding in my brain, I looked up and spied a magazine cover featuring the Brangelina brood.
I read the headline aloud, commenting on how cute their multiple children were. For a moment, I forgot all about my snarky bunch, as I gazed at those sweet baby faces.
My dreamy haze was zapped to the four winds, as my son's whiny voice barrelled through my ears. "Why didn't you have more kids, Momma?"
Before I could mutter, "Ask your father", Sierra--my precious oldest child--replied with the following zinger;
"Because she had us first," she shrugged.
Hmm. 'Nuff said!
(Even the cashier burst out laughing at that one.)