I swear to you, I am not trying to copy shitmykidsruined.com; lately it just seems that every time I turn around my kids have ruined some more shit. Right now there is a big pile of wet dirt on the front walk, the unattractive remains of a vinegar/baking soda/red kool-aid volcano on the porch, a web of fishing line strung around the living room, mud spattered on the front window, and a snail running wild in the kitchen. Currently, it is clinging to the corner where the cabinet meets the ceiling. I have no idea where it came from. I don't even WANT to know, because it probably has friends and a large extended family.
Truly, I have a million other things to write about, and some of them are even important. Well, okay, that's probably a lie. But you never know; don't count me out! I might surprise you yet with a deep thoughtful analysis of some serious, timely issue. Fine, another lie. So sue me. But do it quick, before the debt ceiling default because about 23 milliseconds after that my net worth will consist solely of gastropods, empty kool-aid packets and wine bottles. That'll learn you. Either way, I even get tired of myself if I post too much of the yuk, yuk, look what my crazy kids did now/I'm a bad mommy schtick. It's just that it's so, so easy: this stuff writes itself. And also boggles the mind. Look, here's a video! Just a short that chronicles one of the afternoon's approximately 43 googol similarly insane activities:
See what I mean? What's a girl to do, right? Sigh.