but feeling bitchy.
Please. stop. screaming my name over and over and over.
If I don’t answer the first “Mommy”, just get the hell on with your sentence. I’m less than 6 inches from you. I can hear you.
In fact, you don’t even have to shout. I can hear you when you whisper.
This goes for the cats too. I know you are fucking hungry. My hand is in the food. Stop whining.
Darian, please refrain from smacking me every time I give you an answer you don’t like. This is beginning to offend me. I bruise easily and it is shorts season. People are going to think you father beats me. This would be no good.
You have uninvited me to your birthday party ( that isn’t happening until February) twice a day for the last 3 weeks. You’ll be lucky to HAVE a birthday party if you keep it up.
Granola bars and Popsicle are not appropriate dinner food. Tonight, at least.
The nose picking has got to stop. Boogers are not food. If you are hungry, I’ll get you a string cheese.
Rhys: Please, please, please stop shitting in the tub. This makes me want to throw up and I’m worried you are going to get sick.
Not everything on the floor is food. In fact, NOTHING on the floor should be eaten. You are a smart kid. You speak in sentences and you are 20 months old. Stop sticking things in your mouth.
But mainly I just need you to stop shitting in the bathtub.
Jared: Thank you for doing the dishes and making me coffee. I’ll pick the hangers up off the floor tonight.
Seared Ahi for dinner with heirloom tomato salad and sumomuno made with cukes from our garden.
I think this will make it all better.