This morning, I told my son not to fib.
He replied, “But, it’s okay to fib! It’s Fibruary.”
Forget your troubles; come read about mine
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EmailMy five year old son and nine year old daughter have started racing each other all the time. They race to the car, they race upstairs, they race getting dressed.
The other night they were eating dinner when my son said he wanted to race to see who could finish their food first. My smart daughter said, “No. We can’t race when we’re eating, because you might choke”.
My equally intelligent son replied, “Okay. If you finish eating first it’s not a race, but if I finish first, IT IS.”
At the eye doctor’s office the other day, a technician put my five year old son in an exam chair, then sat down on her rolling stool.
My son asked, “Mom, do you smell that?”
As I quickly looked for sand to bury my head in, I said, “No. I don’t smell anything.”
Even though I knew something bad was coming, that poor lady didn’t have a clue. Not even when my son sniffed the air again and said, “I smell something Mom.”
And, as the technician rolled closer to him, and he took in the full aroma, he said, “I smell something…and it smells like my poop.”
I love flowers and plants and like to surround myself with them.
These are just some of the examples of my green thumb…
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These are fresh flowers my husband brought home last week.
This is a plant I’ve had since
I went to college 19 years ago (yikes…I’m old).
This is a plant in my kitchen.
This is a plant in my kitchen.
A friend gave me this plant about six or seven years ago.
And, my daughter hand-painted this pot and gave me
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