My children are the puppet masters of my stomach.
When my son dives head-first off the couch, my stomach drops. When my daughter tries to one-up him and go off the arm of the couch, my stomach drops.
And when my oldest is nowhere to be found, but can still be heard singing…
“There’s a toilet full of shoes, there’s a toilet full of shoes! Hi-Ho-Hi-Ho there’s a toilet full of shoes!”
…my stomach drops.
Because, well…have you met my children? I fully expect a toilet full of shoes.
But relief, it comes in many packages.
Never thought I’d be so thankful for Polly Pocket.