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Triple Threat

 People think we are raising twins, but they're wrong.  We actually have triplets: Emerson, Carter, and Carterror.  It's true.  Carterror doesn't hang around often, but when the days are long and naps have been missed, she comes out swinging.  

Today, when we should have been napping, we ran errands.  We needed some grain for our cows, so before picking up the boys from school, we stopped at the feed store.  The girls spent a little time looking at all the fish, birds, and pets they have for sale.  Immediately, after telling them not to touch the tanks, Carter tried to go fishing.  That's when I realized Carterror had arrived.  I called her name to stop her and realized her shirt was exceptionally lumpy.  

"What's in there?" I asked, pointing to her newly developed bosom.  

"My kitty," she replied, pulling out a stuffed cat from her sweatshirt.  A minute later, we were walking down an isle of bovine paraphernalia and she darted around a corner.  When I called her, she came sauntering back, and I noticed she had developed elephantitis in her right leg.  

“What's in there?” I asked, pointing to her giant thigh.  

"My soft jacket," she stated nonchalantly.  

"Take that out of  your pants," I said a little too loudly.

"No."

"Carter, take that out," I hissed, helping her pull her favorite sweater out of her pant leg.  

The boys think it's hilarious when Carter is overtired because she has zero filter and no fear of consequences.   Getting ready to head home from our friend's farm this evening, I told her to get in her car seat while I buckled in her sister.  She got in, but I looked away, and she got out.  I looked back up and she got in.  This went on several times while I was too far away to reach her, and all the while she chanted, "Now, I'm in.  Now, I'm out."  It's hard to discipline an impetuous child when you are trying not to laugh.  There's a good chance we are all going to need serious counseling before she's eighteen.     

All afternoon I was calling her Carter Oleava when she was making questionable choices.  Apparently, the girls don't grasp the whole middle name thing yet because by evening, they were calling each other  "Oleavas" when they where upset.  We will have to work on that.  

Things continued to spiral at bedtime, and we ended the day with her trying to eat a piece of paper before I could take it away from her.  I should have let her eat it, but it was too glossy and there was too much dye on it for me to feel comfortable.  

The bright side is, come bedtime, Emerson, Carter and Carterror fall asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow, even if that pillow is covered in shreds of chewed up paper.  


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