Sneakiness on Mother's Day

Call me Mother of the Year.

Peanut and Boomer are up to no good. Again. Against me. Again.

Boomer asked the age-old question of what I want for (insert appropriate holiday here). In this case, I responded that gifts were unnecessary because we have just bought a house. Boomer chuckled at my departure from my usual request of world peace (one of these days, my wish will be granted) and went to sleep. I smiled, thinking for once he listened to me. I should really know better.

Imagine my surprise the next afternoon when the UPS guy shows up with a dozen roses- they're gorgeous, by the way- and a card bearing the signatures of Boomer and Peanut. I'm grateful, make no mistake, but I'm also a bit perturbed by my own double standard.

I object to sneakiness. To be more specific (and because Boomer is reading this over my shoulder and will swipe the keyboard and correct me) I object to sneakiness against me. If I'm the one being sneaky, then it's perfectly all right. So now I'm stewing because my guys know me too well for my own good, and have pulled a fast one on me. Again.

However, not to worry: Boomer has a birthday and Peanut has daily surprises in store. Sneakiness will run rampant again, and I'll once again be the cause. Next time, I'll accept their sneakiness for the joy it gives them. And plot my revenge.

Call me Mother of the Year.