So there I am, flying about the shops getting through a list as long as my arm, all before both kids demanded their naps. The boy shouted and screamed the whole time. I’ve learned to ignore and just hope I don’t get judgemental stares as he flops about in the Out’N’About.

Anyways I’m unloading the buggy and I find a pack of paint brushes that I clearly didn’t buy. The little terrorist robbed them from the DIY store.

Mortified as I was, I rang the DIY store to apologise for robbing the brushes.

‘Oh hey yes, your that blogger girl aren’t you, I read your toddler post and the poo one the other day…’.

Great she knows who I am, she’s called the guards already…

‘I’d recognise the little fella’s face anywhere, you’re not joking when you say he’s loud, are you?’.

FML why can’t I just write into a diary or something…

‘Ah your grand, I actually seen him with them and kind of knew if we took them from him he would have had a conniption fit’.

‘Say nothing, have a nice day’.

I love you…

So there you have it, the boy is one, the boy is a thief.

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