Musing on all is lost with our teens. Then I saw toilet paper.
The dog whimpered at my bedside.
I wanted to sleep a bit longer but when the dog whimpers nothing will stop that infernal whining except a walk.
That’s when I saw this.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Had I found some wormhole and been transported to August 7, 1978?
Surely that was the last date someone TP-ed a house.
Teens now days have their noses stuck in electronics, are having cyber-who-knows-what with who-knows-who and are murdering parents in their sleep.
Seeing this made me feel so much better about the state of things.
As I rounded the corner early this morning with my camera, (I am forever hoping to catch a photo of someone in their PJs for an easy blog post.) I saw Rob Jones, the man of Jones Manor, surveying the damage.
After seeing this mayhem…
CSI Rob deduced the perps had to be female. (Those are plastic forks.)
There’s no way teenage boys had patience for that. Ever try to get your 15-year-old son to set the table? With that Cracker Jack sleuthing, I understand why Rob holds such a powerful position with the Georgia Department of Corrections.
“Did you hear the firecrackers?’ he asked.
No. I slept like a rock after returning from a solo, four-day jaunt with my two youngest.
* * * * *
So this morning, firecrackers and toilet paper wiped away any fears that our teens are woefully off track.
I’m at peace knowing somehow, someway the finer points of common decency being passed down to the younger generation.
What are some more signs? Anyone’s child swallow a goldfish lately?
