It Hurts

Isn't she cute.  I love my little fruitbat.  It's an unfortunate comparison but the truth hurts sometimes.  Want another truth that hurts?  A pair of my favorite pajama shorts bit the dust today because of this little creature's taste for undergarments. I mean, I could still wear them....like crotchless panties if I wanted too but instead I shed a salty tear as I threw them out.  Sage, you better sleep with one eye open tonight.

When she does something wrong, she knows it.  Oh yes this little whippersnapper will tell you she did something wrong even before you found the wrong-doing.  I'll come in to the house, take one look at her squinty little eyes, ears flattened to her skull, and go searching the house for a little turd or maybe 5-10 pairs of underwear strewn about like a crotchless pantie extravaganza. 

 

 

I think it's her firm believe that if she can't see me, I in turn, don't see her.  At this point I have kind of lost my steam.  How do you get mad at a little fruitbat who looks sound alseep?

It's when her ears go back that no matter how many newly bought Victoria's Secret underwear are now in her intestinal tract, I can do nothing but laugh.

At the sound of my cackles she comes awake again, she knows the storm as blown over.  The dark threatening clouds have moved north, the violent winds have died down to a whisper, and all is right with the world.

"So everything's cool right mom?"

God calls me to forgive...but I will not forget.  Especially when I reach for those shorts that are no longer there. When I envision that cute paisley print that was last year's spring line...never going to see those again.  When I am forced to go commando and just don't feel right about it. When I shell out $80 at VS to replenish my undergarment drawer.  The truth, it hurts.