With their powers combined, they run The Beetle Shack. They may look innocent to the naked eye but like rampaging bull ants they dominate and dictate, making senseless and useless demands as they go.
I want warm milk. NO! I want cold. I want a honey sandwich. NO! I want jam. I want green pants. NO! I want jeans. I want a pony. NO! Make that a horse.
My little dictators reign with an iron fist, threatening tantrums and shrill screams should their mother disobey them. With the delegation of menial tasks like bum wiping and food preparation, they solidify their status in the family hierarchy.
Gosh I'm feeling undervalued in my role as a mother at the moment.
Send them to their rooms for a nice long rest while I sit amongst the mess and punch out a post on this little blog.
Because this blog is mine and GOSH it feels bloody fantastic to have something outside of the home and the children and the washing.
da dah dah da, they can't touch this (that's me, M.C Hammer style).
Okay, I'm going to clean the kitchen before the tiny dictators emerge from their rooms.
Thanks for listening.