The summer has just begun, and already I'm trying to keep myself from locking myself in the bedroom with a gallon of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Heath Bar Crunch and a stack of US magazines.
My kids are driving me batty.
I have one who never stops complaining.
I have one who never removes his nose from a book so I constantly have to keep one hand on his shoulder as we walk around, lest he find himself plummeting down an uncovered manhole or wandering off into three lanes of oncoming traffic.
I have one who thinks it's her job to remind me what my name is. As in, "Mama, what are you doing, Mama? Mama, can I have some apple juicy, Mama? Mama, where are you going, Mama? Mama? Mama?" If I don't answer, she'll keep up this string of commentary until I do answer. And if I answer? She still keeps it up.
Good thing I don't have four children.
My trip to Chicago mid-month cannot come fast enough.