It was 2 p.m. this afternoon when I realized I had my shirt on inside out. After returning home from errands. Out in public. Where people saw me.
#2
One of those errands was a stop at Target. And when I rounded the corner and the red sign came into view, Chica started clapping. Perhaps we go there too much?
#3
Speaking of too much--my girls (yes, I said girls as in plural) are both nuts for Frozen (duh). And I recently came to the conclusion that Disney must have focus-grouped the crap out of the Princess name "Elsa," just to make sure munchkins the world over could say it. That seems like just the sort of sneaky, marketing genius kind of thing they would do. (I mean, try it "Elsa, Elsa, Elsa." It's practically just a sound not a name. If I'm not careful, it might end up being Chicklet's first word).
#4
Chica has started ridding on Mama's back like Mama is a very pathetic, slow, grunting horsey. She's quite a commanding cowgirl. No mercy for aging knees. (Pst. Daddy loves you like crazy, and he told me he really wants to play that game with you. Ask him this weekend, 'kay?)
#5
And lastly, I may or may not have picked up an old (perhaps slightly fuzzy) sucker off the floor mat of my car when Chica asked for one and I did not have a fresh one on hand.
I have no picture to go along with this act of, shall we say, resourcefulness, so instead I'll show you a pic of my girlies that Chica put a black and white filter on, thereby making it totally depressing and guilty-looking. Perfect for said dum-dum offense.
(And, yes, they were watching Frozen together.)
Mother of the Year.
Mother. Of. The. Year.
Peace out, peeps.
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