This morning I woke up like usual to the twins fussing to get out of there room. I drug myself to the room to let them out and was greeted by snot on my knees and boogery faces wanting to be kissed.
I slowly follow them to the kitchen so I can get my coffee and they there milk.
When we complete our adventure, I am confronted by a table covered in salt. I roll my eyes and put it on my mental check list. I brew my coffee, grab a couple cups for the twins and D, turn around to get in to the fridge for milk when "Ahhh" I stick my hand in some peanut butter that had somehow made it's way on to the front of the fridge. I step to the right and my foot is suddenly in a puddle of water from the cat bowl. I am afraid to open my eyes and look around at what type of mess D's midnight snack made last night.
Another thing on my mental checklist.
Milk is almost gone, also it is missing it's lid and I am pretty sure some backwash is floating in it.
My eyes go big and my heart sinks. Oh please... Not the cheese.
My son... He likes to do this thing when ever we get cheese. He will straight up chew on the giant brick. If I was not busy lecturing him on the cost of food and how to properly eat it, I would have taken a picture last time. It looked like a team of rats had the munchies. But see... None of this is strange to me. It would be strange if I woke up and the house was not in disarray from D waking up hungry in the middle of the night or I was not covered in boogers for a day.
Don't ask me why he salted him peanut butter sandwich though... That to me... That's strange.