Oh my grubby little angel.
There once was a little girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead...
When she was good she was very good, but when she was bad she was horrid..
I distinctly remember someone saying that poem to me when I was just a tot. I glared as hard as I could and brushed the curl back with each repetition of the rhyme. :) But! I was NOT often very bad. At least not like some members of this household.
I crack uh eggs, Mama.
Lots of them. Every day. We need a strait jacket, or a chicken-operable-only door, or I don't know what.
I know. So am I. But that doesn't seem to stop you. I wonder if this is how God feels about me. Me: Always sorry, never stopping.
Yes. *sigh* I forgive you. Please stop cracking the eggs.
Okay, Mama. I will stop [for today].