Don't Ask...Don't Tell

I have borrowed this philosophy when it comes to wondering what exactly goes on when David is in charge of the children and I am away from the house.

Case in point: Yesterday I had to work late and didn't get home until around 7:45pm. David had solely been responsible for the young ones for less than 3 hours. I overlooked the kitchen, which was left in mild disarray, when I saw my children's cherubic faces smiling up at me, bathed, already in their pajamas, with no signs of obvious blunt trauma anywhere on their bodies.

I went to sleep feeling lucky to have such a dependable helpmate.

However, as I began my days' events this morning getting everyone up and ready, my thoughts of his dependability waned as I peeled off Tate's pajamas and was met by the unmistakable sheen of silver DUCT TAPE, holding my little one's diaper securely to his bum!

Don't ask...don't tell...