|There's something in that face that I recognize in the mirror.|
For background, there are two gates to get into the backyard. One of them has been entirely off limits this year thanks to a particularly nasty looking climbing vine of poison ivy. Over the past two days, I've been spraying the leaves and roots with a bleach and water solution, and yesterday enough of the vine had dried up that I felt brave enough to don some thick rubber gloves and get things taken care of.
I bagged up the poison ivy, took a cool shower and used a little dish soap to get rid of any oils that might have somehow made it onto my skin (yes, that sounds nuts, but no rash today tells me I might be onto something) and then went into the play room, where the girls and Tim were spending some quality time before bed.
"Well, it's gone," I said to Tim.
"Does that mean we can use the gate again?" Mary interrupted. "The poison ivy is all gone."
"Well, not yet," I said. "I want to make sure it's really gone." (This is not a lie. I pulled up an underground root half the length of the side yard and I know I didn't get the entire thing.)
"Seriously?!" She spat in a disgusted, sarcastic tone that was all to familiar to my ear.
"Tim, I'mma hit that child," I said facetiously, in a bit of a hillbilly accent. (PLEASE NOTE that I do not actually advocate smacking your kids around, in case anyone was about to speed dial CPS.)
"You know she's doing the exact same thing you do," Tim said drily.
"Yeah, well, I drink and engage in other adult activities, too, but we'd be pretty mad if she started doing any of that," I argued.
"Still," he said amicably, "you can't say you're going to hit someone because they do the same thing you do."
"I'd hit her if she had a drink, too," I shot back with a grin on my face. (SEE DISCLAIMER ABOVE.)
"NO!" Mary hollered. "YOU HAVE TO GIVE ME WATER! I'M THIRRRRRRSTY!"
She still has no idea why Tim and I couldn't stop laughing.