Life in the Slammer

This flu has turned into the nastiest sore throat this side of the larynx.  I couldn't swallow pooh, if I wanted to, which I don't, but if I did, I couldn't.

Onto other news...

I had my classroom-party-initiation on Thursday in Cohen's Kindergarten class.  It was sticky, to say the least.

And, when we were filling up the kids bags with copious and dangerous amounts of candy, all the other parents favored their child, while I, like the dope I am, spread them out evenly and fairly.  Cohen went home with only TWO Kit-Kats.  How can I live on only TWO Kit-Kats I ask you?  Not well.  Not well at all.

Kembry is...evil, let's move on.

Chloe is a patient baby.  When she wakes up screaming for the milk-bag in the middle of the night, she stops as soon as I turn on the light, and sits quietly until I get everything prepared, including turning on the t.v. full blast to give my husband a taste of my medicine.  If I'm up, so will you be.

But then the little snot latches and just sits there, looking at me, as if to say, "That's right, I'm taking my time, and there ain't nuttin' you can do about it, neither."  Her Kembryesque style is coming along nicely.

So there's an update. I would blog more, but they only let me out every two hours for ten minutes to feed the baby, and then I'm back in the slammer, cooking, cleaning, wiping butts and kicking them at the same time.

Kelly Out

P.S. Cohen has caught whatever it is that's taken up home in my throat.  On Halloween.  I'm the worst mom EVER.  Time to dope him up and send him out to fetch me some candy.