Earlier today, I lay prone in our playroom area being "attacked" by my 7-month-old baby, who was crawling over my neck. My other children were peacefully coloring and writing in the kitchen. Apparently the attack quickly affected my reasoning, as I decided to be silly and interrupt the perfectly peaceful, non-fighting, non-mess-making, non-whining children in order to attempt to rough-house with them. This is the part of the story where you are allowed to question my sanity.
"Ack! Ack! I am being attacked by a baby! Someone help me! Won't someone save me?" I say, hoping to draw the kids into my drama so I can then ambush them with tickles.
Unfortunately, Jack spoke only to Alexander. "What was that noise?"
Apparently I sound like the adults of the Peanuts world and not even my desperate pleas for help can be understood by those under the age of 18. Alas, I was doomed from the start, loss of sanity and all.