Love at Home

On Saturday Cindy and I went out to do some shopping, and the kids--recalling to my mind hungry baby birds chirp-chirp-chirping with their upward-reaching beaks gaping wide waiting for their mommy to leave a tasty worm (assuming, of course, that the mommy-bird has successfully ran Cameron's air gun gauntlet)--sang out that they wanted us to bring them back a treat.
Cindy said, 'We will buy a treat, but IF--I repeat--IF when we get home we hear that there has been fighting or hitting or other problems, you will get NOTHING. And I mean NOTHING!'

Cameron digested this, then offered this hypothetical: 'So, you're saying that as long as no one tells you anything, we get a treat?'

On that optimistic note, we left the house.

We returned to find the smiling visages of Erin and Cameron, ice cream bowls and spoons in hand.
We later found the 2 younger girls bound and gagged in a remote corner of the basement.

Okay, so that last bit was a lie. (Though, sadly, not beyond the realm of possibility.)

There were no problems (that we know of at this point), and everyone got ice cream.

Yes, miracles sometimes do happen, even at the Floyd house.