I'm downstairs. I have three small children upstairs. And it's quiet. Something is wrong with this picture. Whenever it is quiet in the Reese household, it's a pretty sure bet that something funky is going on. Maybe the little people are seeing what Vaseline looks like smeared on the carpet (that has happened before). Maybe they've snuck a bowl of candy into a bedroom and they are covered in chocolate (yes, that has also happened before). Maybe they're writing on a door with a red pen (you guessed it - happened before).
In fact, on one particularly crappy day I walked into the kitchen to find my son writing on the door with a red pen. Instead of duct taping his arms together I sent him to time out, then went to grab a rag to wash off the door. As I was about to commence scrubbing I read what he wrote. It said "I Love You Mom. I Love You Dad." Reading that stopped the smoke from coming out of my ears. It's hard to be mad in a moment like that.
Maybe I'll leave them up there for a few more minutes.
Nevermind. I don't want to see what Vaseline looks like on the carpet again.