"HOOONNNEEEEEE!!! Where's my 'Fuck You' t-shirt?" Nikki yelled from the other room.
"I don't know, sweetheart. If it isn't in your closet or dresser, then I don't know," I yelled back from the kids's room.
"Don't you do the laundry?" He yelled, from somewhere in his cavernous closet.
"I do sugarplum," I replied somewhat sarcastically, "but if I can't find it, I can't wash it." I was walking toward the bedroom, when I heard an 'aarrggg' of frustration from him. I walk into his closet and amongst a billion black t-shirts, I found the one he was looking for. "There you go sweetie."
Chagrined, Nikki replied, "Thanks Honey."
"You're welcome," I said with a smile, patting him on the cheek. I turned upon hearing a shrieking child. I looked out into the hallway to see a boy streak by, followed by a pack of assorted pooches.
"Nikki JR! Stop running in the house! And take those dogs outside."
"OK Mom," was the reply fading in the distance of the huge house.
Mumbling to myself, "Before you know it, we'll be like the Osbornes, with dogs pooping everywhere."
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