Further Proof Middle Twerp Needs To Go To School

I beseech you dear brethren to turn now from your wicked ways and close down this blog. I warn you with the alerts of bells and whistles and sirens equivalent to a nuclear holocaust. I beg you to run, run as fast as you can...run to your mama and papas and uncle and aunts to the coconut tree. {Name those two books.}

What you are about to see in not appropriate for children under 12 or those of the XY chromosomal pattern. Trust me -- I beg of you to stop now while you still think I am innocent and sweet and wear panty hose on Sundays and am like a merchant ship bringing my food from afar. That is what you think of me right? Don't answer that.

I came downstairs last night to check on Middle Twerp cause he had been awful quiet for an awful long time which usually equals awful things in our house....like pink glitter fingernail polish on my white Banana Republic skirt or permanent markers on my Pottery Barn blanket or all my Sephoria painted on the wall. Hypothetically speaking of course.
But I walked down the stairs to notice him playing with his dinosaurs and some paper....let's take a closer look, shall we?
What in the world is that stuff. I go start supper and come back to an even closer look which identifies his scheming plot.
Oh Lord have mercy on my soul. We need to bump that therapy up to three times a weeks now.

And I think we can all come to a consensus that homeschooling is not the right thang for me.
I am so ashamed. So ashamed that I posted in on the web for all to see...and of course these will reappear at his Sweet Sixteen birthday party too. Amen.