MOM.

Tonight I shall be known as the shatter-er of all dreams, the killer of childhood. 

Or, you know, MOM.

It all started with a frustration level heretofore unknown by my children.  This frustration level is reached by yelling, whining, and fighting — all things my children are mighty good at.  And tonight, with B out of town and me suffering from some sort of cold/allergy hybrid, my children reached that level and caused me to declare, “There will be no story tonight!  No reading from Indiana Jones!”

And, lo, that declaration shattered their dreams and killed their childhoods. 

Until, that is, I took pity on their poor pitiful selves and read to them anyway.

But I only read two pages. 

Take that, pitiful children!  Now you know the wrath of MOM.

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