There’s a lot of OMG at my house these days. One teenager and two tweens leads me and The Author to OMG ourselves into a tizzy at various times of the week, and the children (can I still call them that, despite their protestations of adulthood?) are OMG-ing themselves about us on a regular basis.
Laundry — don’t get me started. Homework — who devised this torture for me? (Er, I mean my children, although one of them in particular ensures that I am as miserable as he is when it’s homework time.) Setting the table. Walking the dog. Emptying the dishwasher. Even watching the telly (or, to be more specific, not only the bickering over who gets to watch what, which has resulted in a rota, but also the time when we will let them watch it, which is only when all the above is done). Everything is fodder for a rolling of the eyes and a declaration of how hard their lives are. On a regular basis, The Author and I sigh and contemplate the liquor cabinet.
But. Continue reading