The Buffy

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My life is pretty dull. I play with a toddler, watch a lot of Yo Gabba Gabba and experiment with the crock pot. I have no bed time and I find humor in Laffy Taffy jokes. Conan O'Brien is my anti-drug.

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Bubbles

I'm sitting outside on a Sunday morning, typing this out on my phone. 

I have a bit of a sunburn on my shoulders and my legs are itchy. Sophie the friendly pit bull is pooping in the yard at this moment. I'm watching her so I can remember where I have to clean it up later. 

Inside I can hear Tommy whining and Brett loading the dishwasher. It sounds like he's watching some of his DVR'd General Hospital. Damn, he loves that show. Emma is playing with Barbies in another corner of the house. 

As I'm sitting here I'm thinking about how long of a weekend it's been already. My body is sore from hours and hours (and hours) of yard work. My hands are swollen from too much Italian beef last night and if Emma's American Girl doll (named Rose, for future reference) needs one more wardrobe change today I'm going to cry myself to sleep.
 
But seriously, I'm so damned blessed. I can't get over the fact that I have these two beautiful children. I adore my husband, and that jackass loves me back. My dog is this gentle giant that would give her left [back] leg to sit on my lap on the couch for like two minutes of her life. Not gonna happen, pooch. Couches are leather and you need a nail trim. We have a beautiful house and 20 acres of woods and a giant bottle of bubbles and a porch swing and coffee and Taylor Swift albums and no immediate neighbors. 

Life is so damned good. 
Whenever you hear me bitching remind me that we have a giant bucket of bubbles. Those bubbles are liquid gold.  


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