You haven't had fun until you've spent ten minutes on your hands and knees at 8:30pm (an HOUR after you put your kid to bed, mind you) in your pajamas picking melty chocolate chips out of his bedroom carpet while he looks on sobbing "DADDY! DADDY! I WANT MY DADDY! NOT MY MOMMY!" And this, just after he crept into his (sleeping) sister's room and tossed a handful of chocolate chips into her crib, which of course a) wakes her up and b) makes her scream as anyone would scream if they were sleeping peacefully and it suddenly rained chocolate chips on their face and c) alerted me to the choco-chip festivities going on overhead in the first place. And all this, just after your beloved Packers are defeated, and not just barely or in one of those games you walk away from the TV set saying "oh, but they gave it their all" ... but in a sad, slow, came into our house and stole our thunder kind of game. And J's team lost today, too, so there's that. Football, YOU'RE DEAD TO US.
It wasn't the finest Sunday ever, is what I'm saying to you. I might be slightly crabby. I might have went on a little FB defriend-athon after that game, and it felt GOOD. You're safe, my friend, unless you're a Viking fan gloating on FB. And if you ARE a Viking fan gloating the Packer loss on FB, I've got a select three words for you: three and thirteen. And also: your outfits are purple. Sadface.
But. My husband kindly offered to do the grocery shopping while I took a bath and watched the Globes, AND came home with a hot fudge Sunday in hand. And my kid, while wily and tooth-grindingly-challenging these past seven or so days, is healthy and will someday not be three anymore .... so there's that.
The week will only get better from here. Right? Right? RIGHT?!?!
the 'Rhine' flu
1 hour ago