Admit it. You want to party with us.I've started getting Jack ready for camp. And by that, I mean I've yelled at him a few times to gather up all the dirty clothes in his room so I can wash them. Not so he can wear them at camp, but so he can come home with a suitcase full of clean clothes after wearing the same outfit all week (oh my God, mom, boys do not wear "outfits"!). Although last year, he came home a suitcase full of clothes that were covered in duck shit. They hadn't been worn, of course. Can that be considered progress?
Today I was hanging out at a friend's (Yay! I made a friend who doesn't think I'm going to hell because I haven't been "saved"!), when Jack called. "Mom, there was a guy here knocking on the door, and now he's walking around the house." I left the kids with my friend and drove home going 85mph in a 20mph zone, hoping the cops would follow me. It turned out to be the pest control guy. He had just finished spraying toxic chemicals around the perimeter of our house, including the kids' garden. Woops! He had the wrong house. Now we don't have to worry about carpenter ants, and who cares if my grandkids are missing a few toes and fingers? I'm glad I put so much effort into hand weeding so my children wouldn't be playing near chemicals. But the good news, he assured me, is that he wouldn't charge me, since he had the wrong house. I'm so lucky!
In other news, Henry no longer has to wear his headgear. Can I get a Woo Hoo!? However, instead of attaching Hen's mask every night, now I get to stick a pokey-key-thingie in Jack's mouth and turn the crank every few days. Also, I LOVE Ambien, and so does my family. I'm all nice now that I get more than four hours of sleep a night.
Well, I mean nice for me.
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