My children live in La La Land.

That's the name of the happy place where my children like to visit. They say it's a really nice place and insist my life would be much more enjoyable if I would simply abandon all sense of reason and join them there. I can always tell when they've flitted over for an extended stay in La La land. When I (because really I'm just a horrible mother) try and impose my reality on them, and make them do unreasonable things like brush their teeth, or put their laundry away, and they look at me with complete shock and utter horror, I know they've been gone for too long, and I must find a way to bring them back down to earth.

Just last night, I walked into the bathroom and found Sam in the tub, water filled to the very top and two inches of water spilled over on the floor.

"Sam!" I cried. "How did this happen?!"

"I just didn't notice the water was overflowing, Mommy."

Um, yeah. And I'm the queen of England. Blurred reality strikes again.

Then there was the time my little fantasy land dwellers convinced the babysitters that they really DO fill the sandbox up with water all the time and that Mommy is totally cool with it, even though it washes all the sand down the back of the yard and creates more mess than should EVER be allowed. Sam and Lucy told a different babysitter once that I let them balance the broom in between the couch and the ottoman, and walk across it like a tightrope. Uh huh. Whose reality are we living in again?

My husband recently received a calling at church that requires him to sit up on the stand, far far away from me, and our four children. I tell you what. Nothing helps you feel the spirit of the Lord like sitting in Sacrament meeting with four children. All alone. We've managed pretty well so far, except for the time when Jordan and Sam decided it would be a fun game to see how quickly they could shove a pen up the nose of the other.

"What?" They asked me when I shot death stare lasers out of my eyes from my end of the pew.

"What are we doing wrong?!"

So LaLa Land is a place where generating cries of anguish OUT LOUD in the middle of your FATHER'S talk is not anything to be alarmed about?

(notice I was much more concerned about the noise than the actual pain they may have been inflicting on one another. I have my priorities in order. Really, I do.)

I must admit, sometimes I want to escape to LaLa Land too. I bet there isn't any laundry to do over there. And surely exercise is something you can do sitting down with your feet up, and a cherry coke in your hand. I'm thinking I need to do some more research about this place...