My family loves to irritate me. In fact, Clay does it on purpose because he thinks it’s funny to watch me get irritated, “You just get so mad…it’s funny. And then you try to hurt me, but it never hurts. And then you get even more mad. It’s hilarious.”
Where’s the love?
My daughter takes three billion showers a day. She is supposed to be outside cleaning the yard, but first she has to take a shower. Guess what she’ll need to do after she’s done cleaning the yard? When our well runs dry, we will be pointing fingers at her and the shovel she’ll need to go dig a new well.
Where’s the water?
I hater, hate, hate when my children’s teachers assign them to do Secret Santa gifts. Why? Because guess who has to be the Secret Santa? Not my kid…yeah, me. And guess who has to pay for the gifts or convince the kid that they should just make a gift? Not my kid…yeah, me. Hey Teacher, my kid ain’t got no money or creative skills to do no Secret Santa and I ain’t got no Christmas spirit!
Can I get a Bah Humbug?
I’ve got like a big problem with kids calling me by my first name. Honestly, I think I was born in the wrong decade, because to me, every child should address an adult by Mr or Mrs or Miss until they are an adult themselves. Am I old or what?
Where’s the respect?
Who still has on toenail polish from this summer? But, just on two toes.
Where’s the polish remover?
Who’s got a little bur in her saddle this windy Kansas morning?
Where’s April? err, I mean Mrs. Phillips?