Luckily, everyone survived--with the exception of the hot pink feather boa that Gray received for Christmas, which had molted on every visible surface of our house.
I choked back the flames that were slowly igniting in my sinful, justified little heart, and calmly demanded that Graysen pick them all up and put them in the trash.
Reasonable...right?
I spun on one heel and returned to the kitchen to gloat over my fresh green beans and granola bars. (What a wonderful job I had done buying groceries! Oh come on...ladies, you know that feeling! You know what I'm talking about!)
After almost an hour of checking on Graysen, who had cleaned up nothing, I pulled out the big threat. "Graysen, I am going to throw away every toy that I find on this floor!"
She immediately started crying...though not moving.
She looks up to me and says, "Mommy...I figured it out. I've realized that this is just one big, bad dream."
"What is a big, bad dream?"
She grunts--still not moving a muscle--and says, "Having to pick up all these feathers. It's just a terrible dream!" She then bursts into tears.
Trying not to smirk at her obvious over-dramatization, (wonder where she got that?)I reply, "Well you shouldn't have unleashed your passive aggressive on the feather boa." It's messy.
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