Micah, Jett and Cash,
Well… Never mind you, Cash. Dogs can’t read, and you don’t have balls anyway, so you don’t count.
We’re outnumbered. It’s been perfect for the past few years. We almost needed the 3-1 ratio just to keep your mother confused enough for all three of us to get away with little things from time to time. Now we’re babysitting the Anderson trio of lovely little ladies, and for the first time in the history of this house, we’re a minority! I know it’s only a few hours, and they’re your friends, and they’re nice and fun and sweet and bla bla bla- BUT THAT’S HOW THEY GET YOU! There’s no way I’ll be able to talk your mom out of a daughter after she knows what it’s like to have the scales tip in her direction (for future reference: avoid using “scale tipping” illustrations about the women in your life). We are doomed.
You think you can just lazily pee all over the toilet seat with a sister in the house? Are you under the impression that your toy dinosaurs DIDN’T need manicures? And how about Spiderman and your other favorite cartoons- ready to trade those in for whatever the cute, young, puppy dog eyes want? Trust me, your aunt Shayna is 5 years younger than me. We watched her shows. Even today, when I see something I don’t like, I try to “Care Bear Stare” it away.
We have two ways we can play this- convince the girls, against their nature, to run amuck with such fervor that your mother couldn’t imagine surviving another soul under this roof, OR we can be on our best behavior in a way that makes her realize this is already a complete home. The second one might be tough for us- especially if it requires you guys to not miss the toilet.
Love,
Dad
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