QUESTION:

Why must parents suffer?

Just to lighten the mood a little. I ask because scenes like this greet me every time my bedroom/writing space is invaded by... offspring. I don't know what's on the other side- till I see it.

In this instance, here are my two, one wearing his underpants on his head ("Mum, they're my last clean pair and I don't want to misplace them when I shower later!") and my other one, caught in a rare photo like some endangered cave-dwelling, robe-wearing (yes, I bought them both a robe each) feral species of?

The cat?

She pooped on Dylan's bed. Thus his martyred expression and Markie's mirth because... well it didn't end well.

So I ask: We give them life, we nurture them, we do our best to do what's best for them. And we get this?

"Mum... I errr... tried to do the plastic bag thing to scoop it up but I dropped it and then the dog stepped in it and then... he ate it. I need a new doona, new rug and new room."

"Least your jocks are clean bro." This from Marcus.

"Your dog greeted me with a lick! Out, the lot of you!"

Yeah...

Then there was the 'Let me try on your harem pants yiayia brought back from overseas... and while I'm at it, I might also throw on the bikini top.' THAT sight went uncaptured as do many, many others...

Do you get to see your offspring in ways unfathomable? Or is it just me?

... Speaking of- look who walked in just now: Saying, "Mum I've had it for 2 weeks. You are the only one who doesn't know."