Once upon a time the eldest child had a fit over math.  This was the fifth fit in as many days.  She was wearing her mother out.  Her mother was becoming adept at converting mixed numbers to improper factions, finding the LCDs, and converting back to mixed numbers (reduced).  The eldest was not.  There was shouting at the computer and a lot of smacking the mouse around, which the mom - although not condoning the behavior, did in fact understand, because the computer falls asleep after .3847 of inactivity, which is utterly maddening when you are either 1. trying to convert mixed numbers, or 2. write silly blogs.

So the day went south.

Far, far, deep south.

Where it's hot and sticky and everyone's tempers are hot and sticky.  Mom's hair began to frizz in the southern heat.

Mom was angry with the eldest, but the middler and the youngster paid the price because the eldest was too cranky to notice how cranky Mom was.  So the middler kept apologizing for her sister's behavior, her own behavior, her brother's behavior, the alignment of the stars, global warming, famine in Africa, and the price of oil.  This made Evil Mommy feel even more guilty, which in turn made her more Evil.

A trip to the library was in order.  Biographies on Maria Tallchief and Cleopatra had been planned but the gusto was gone.  The get up and go had got up and left.  The wind was knocked out of their sails by a cranky pre-teen who held them hostage with her spirit.

In order to soothe her savage Evil Homeschool Mom Beast she bought her children's love with a trip to McDonald's.

This doesn't happen often.  Not because she is holier than thou and only feed her offspring organic vegan bone marrow nuggets, but mostly because she is cheap.  And junk food, oddly, is not.

The guilt was so off the charts by then that she let the miniature humans order not off the dollar menu.   Her children didn't know there was such a thing.  A menu other than the dollar menu??  They still had to split one large soda though.  Thus, the arguing over rootbeer vs. blue Powerade.

The youngest had fun.  For about an hour.  Then some rotten little thug punched him in the gut in the slide and the fun was over.

It's all fun and games until someone gets punched in the gut by a troll.

He (youngest, not Troll Face Thug Boy) came back with a red face and those horrible tears that are too proud to drip down his face.  You know the ones.  The ones where the chin quivers and there's such a support of bravado but all he really wants to snuggle Mama and cry.

Older sisters and Mom held each other back from not whalloping the tar out of Thug Boy.

Youngest lost his socks.  There were finally tears.  You would have thought those stinky, no longer white, ratty socks had been passed down to him by a beloved ancestor.  Hearts were broken in the McDonald's playland today.  Heaving sobs.

Had to stop at the dollar store for poster board.  In order to balm the youngest's broken heart and soul, a glow stick was purchased.

He hates it.

Because it glows.

He doesn't want it to glow.

Mom put in her resignation.

And they all lived...  happily  ever after.

The end.