This is one of those posts where I had a bunch of little things to write about but nothing that inspired me to dedicate much time to writing a post on each thing.
On to the little things.
My text to Tucker, “Can we hire a nanny?” I never got a response.
From Tucker: “Rabbit feet are pokey.” and “I wouldn’t suggest you go out there for a while. It’s rather larval and they were none too happy I took away their dinner.”
Explaining the national debt to a five year old isn’t my idea of fun.
After serving a fresh fruit salad–containing fruits Cara loves–and a ham and cheese sandwich I get this [complete with rolling eyes]: “But can’t we have pizza or something? I’m fine just eating ice cream.”
Our house has been taken over by flies. At any point in the day there are at least three flies. We don’t own a fly swatter. Rolled up magazines seem to work best at smashing the bastards. Coloring books not so much. I can’t decide if the flies are due to the fact we have cows and horses behind our house or if they’re leftover from “Roger.” That’s what Tucker’s taken to calling the rabbit. Wonder if Tucker’s Jessica?
My son can’t seem to grasp the concept of opening a door. FIRST you turn the knob. SECOND you pull on the door. Dude’s not a stupid kid but he can’t seem to work our backdoor correctly the first time.
“IN OR OUT! IF YOU OPEN THAT DOOR ONE MORE TIME SO HELP ME…I’LL COME UP WITH SOMETHING…” Threats kind of fall flat when you don’t have anything good to finish it off with.
I’ve felt this way all week. About everyone:
She dressed herself; you can’t see the bright red “cowgirl” boots.
He says he’s a doctor. Not sure I want to know what kind.
“He kicked me in the vagina!”
“She kicked me in the penis!”