You knew you made an error. A big , gigantic error by letting Debra Morgan, daughter of Harry Morgan and Doris Morgan, Miami Metro's lieutenant and your adoptive baby sister , of 30s , stays with you to watch over your toddler son for a weekend.

"And this, this is....?" She asks Harrison as she helps his tiny chubby hands turns the page of a book for children, named 'The Shining'.

"Shit!" He answered, with a toothless grin who made your heart melts despite yourself.

You sighed, walking a hand through your hair. There was three rules. Three rules your spouse gave you when they left with the others kids to see their sick grandmother, a trip who didn't hype them.

One, no swearing. You tried your best. But with Deb who swore like a firefighter it was hard.

The second rule was no ice cream at night. A sugar fueled Harrison was like supporting Manchester United : you can ends up with the best like with the worst.

Generally the worse.

Which incudled Harrison, on the back of Deb, as she gave him a ride, eating vanilla ice cream, and throwing it around on the walls.

"Harrison! Stop! And get down!" You said, washing the walls with a new sponge your spouse bought some days ago, as if they knew you'll fail. "Da-doo, no! Auntie! Faster!" Harrison babbled, which made Deb burst out laughing. "You heard him..." She said before going even faster, which made squeals and laugh Harrison.

He threw his spoon on a vase that your spouse bought months ago, making it falls on the ground and explodes in thousand of pieces, with all your hope of a normal weekend.

The third rule? It was that the house was clean when they'll come back.

As soon as you sat next to Deb on the ground, beer in hand, after finally putting Harrison to sleep, and saw the house full of ice cream, children books and dubious diapers, you understood two things:

One, you failed as a parent.

Two, you needed vacations.