Sabrina is not the most organized of my children.
Yesterday she was ordered to sort through every last article of clothing under her bed, in the closet, under the carpet, and on the ceiling fan. She decided that if she was going to be spending the next several hours doing as she was told, she was bringing her sister down with her. She bribed her with some very cool hand-me-downs (which I knew was just a tactic to keep from having to fold them and put them away), and to work they went.
On their way from Sabrina's room to Sophie's – and laden with Sophie's new second-hand duds – they belted out some sort of concert…
I have no idea what song it was. I've repressed that memory.
But clearly, Sabrina was passionate about it.
I was hopeful that the show would soon be over, and they would get back to work…
But the only thing Sabrina got back to was her concert.
Which exhausted Sophie.
(Truth be told, before the above photo was snapped, Sophie said to me, "Hey Mom, look. This is my dead look.") I worry for my children's mental health sometimes. I blame it on their father.
The singing eventually stopped, but the work never actually got started…
Sophie got a face full of armpit.
Which meant Sabrina would get a foot in return.
And so the evening went on…
And eventually, I just gave up and left.
I'll fight this battle another day.