It's official. I am lactose intolerant. I have been cursed and sentenced to life in solitary confinement. (what? you actually thought I'd give up my Cold Stone Gotta Have It cake batter ice cream with raspberries and strawberries in a chocolate-dipped waffle bowl?!) Ever since 9 o'clock last night, my bowels have been...what's the word I'm looking for?--um, wrong.
I somehow managed a break long enough to drop my daughter off at school, seriously considered using their kindergarten-sized potty, thought better of it when I realized it was connected to their classroom--how's that for homeroom mom, huh?! Funkin' up the whole Kindergarten wing! Anyway, made it to Target without incident, which btw is located directly behind the school. ; )
And now for an important message to my kids:
Bud-uh, when I try blaming you for the next bathroom run in a public place, do not shout, "mommy, you gotta poopted again?!"
And Tiny, when I try blaming YOU for the fourth trip to the bathroom in a public place, do not start laughing and say, "mommy did you just fard-ed?!", and when I try to deny it, do not say, "not me! you did it! you fard-ed!"
I liked it better when the both of you were still old enough to blame for bathroom humiliations but still young enough not to know the difference. Thank.you.very.much.