Ever have that weird 'something smells funny' issue but you can't pinpoint the cause? Well, maybe you too have an ancient pb&j lurking in the depths of an old forgotten lunch bag, hiding behind your laundry room door.
My amazing neighbor loves to buy these chips from some Amish store, eat about .1oz of them, and then give them to us for "the kids"... except "the kids" really translates to "me" when I'm crabby. See how big the bags are? That's weeks of bad mood snacking material. And about 17 extra pounds.
There's clutter again. Which would be easily cured if I would just stop cmplaining about it and do it...but where's the fun in that?
Especially when you have something like this that is supposed to eliminate said clutter.
I let them climb on the table 579 times a day. And I don't care. It's february and I feel like at this point if they wanted to spray paint the inside of my house I would let them. We are bored. We need nice weather.
And my favorite?
Kate pulled all of my pot roast leftovers down off the counter yesterday when I stepped into the garage to grab something. She said "uh-oh" and I cried because that was the last thing my fragile mental state could handle (and I was hungry and very excited to enjoy them).
It was time to pick Claire up from preschool. I grabbed Danny and Kate and off we went.
While standing there waiting, some mom I didn't know started to look at Kate and went over to her thinking that she had dried blood on her head and was in need of assistance.
It was in fact pot roast gravy from the leftover incident that had dried all over her head.
My baby was not bleeding, which was of course good news, but she did smell like beef and looked seriously neglected- which was humiliating at best.
I would love to show you a photo, but I quickly ran to the car and did a spit-on-my-mitten-and-scrub-her-face bath.
Oh how we need spring to come.
So so sooooooooo badly.