Today the house was quiet.
I knew that meant trouble.
Oldest Daughter said, "You are so paranoid. WHY do you think it automatically means Demon Baby is getting into trouble?"
"Umm . . . because I carried him for nine months, gave birth to him, have been raising him his entire Demon Life, and I KNOW him."
Of course, silence meant he had dragged a chair to the candy stash, taken gum drops upstairs, and found creative uses for them, mostly having to do with designs in the carpet.
Just now, the Mom Eyes In The Back Of My Head felt he was in trouble just behind me.
"What are you doing?" I called out over my shoulder as I worked on my new novel.
"I'm not doing something."
"That form of denial usually means you ARE doing something."
I will spare you the details of what my kitchen looks like right now.
Paranoid? Or psychic. Or simply Mother of the Most Mischievous Boy Ever. You be the judge.