Okay, I have got to start grooving on the whole Winter Break thing, because it is almost over. Well, in five days. Not that I'm counting or anything.
This whole raising kids thing would be so much easier if, say, you were raising them with a pulley. My body is aching from all the hauling them overhead business. Or maybe in the basket of a catapult. Just pull the lever and chop the rope and you done raised them all the way into the next state.
I'm not doing so well on my no-cursing resolution, either. Why am I such a grumpy witch?
Could be that my children ate:
Cold cereal followed by oatmeal followed by yogurt followed by english muffins with peanut butter followed by turkey and apple slices followed by string cheese followed by dried blueberries followed by pistachios followed by bananas followed by hot chocolate. All by 11 am. And they were still complaining that they were starving. Apple sauce and spaghetti was followed by more dried blueberries. And more complaining of starvation. Chicken noodle soup from a can, crackers, more pistachios, glass of milk, more yogurt, more apple slices. Seriously. This was before 3 pm.
People, I was standing in my kitchen all day making little amuse bouche portions of things for the pickiest diners ever and they were horrible tippers. And they wouldn't take a hint and just go gnaw on the furniture. No, they kept at me, and I kept feeding them. And then feeding them some more.
Tomorrow, I'm putting my foot down. I'm not a short order cook, and I'm not going stand it one minute more. I'm going to make lumberjack sized portions of stick-to-their-protruding-ribs foods, and force them to eat their fill in one sitting. One big breakfast. One mid-morning snack. One lunch. One afternoon snack. And one ding-dang dinner.
And I think I'll forbid all talking, too. Except for compliments to the chef, of course.