There Are No Secrets In Our House

I couldn't decide yesterday if I should tell you about this, but I just can't stand it any longer. Rick and I had a knock-down-drag-out Friday morning to begin our long weekend. This is where you say, "And you're dying to tell us about it?" No, but I want you to hear what happened afterwards. It's G-rated and hilarious!

We don't fight very often. Thankfully, we're able to talk through most disagreements as, you know, adults. We've also never fought in front of the boys. Until Friday.

I won't tell you the topic of our fight, nor will I tell you who started it. Ahem. But we were trying to get everyone in shoes and out the door, and, of course, we were in a hurry. Rick was trying to get the boys to his mom's house for a day of fun, and I was trying to get to the mall before the crowds.

Before I know it, some one's snide remark set the other one off, and we were yelling at each other. The boys have never heard us scream at each other, so when I looked down to see three sets of brown eyes wide in shock, I said, "I think we need to go to our bedroom to work this out."

After I set my boys up with the best babysitter known to mankind (a.k.a the television), Rick and I went to our room and worked it out quietly. Then, we resumed getting every one's shoes and jackets on, when Liam said, "Daddy, you go to time out? On your bed? Ooooh, that's not good." You see, in our house, the ultimate time out is on your bed.

Over our romantic dinner later that evening, we both apologized again for hurting the other. And then, Rick proceeded to tell me about their day with his mom.

As soon as they got to my mother-in-law's house, Liam announced that "Mommy is mad at Daddy." Nice. Thanks, Liam.

And on Sunday, all three boys proceeded to fill my parents in on the same news. Thanks, boys. I think we should go back to our no-fighting-in-front-of-the-boys rule.