Wine is My Miracle Cure

So you know all that stress I’ve been carrying around?

Apparently there’s a cure for that, and it’s called WINE.  Sending the eldest child for a sleep over at a friend’s house goes nicely with it, as does putting the baby to bed early and catching up on my blog reading followed by a movie staring either Adam Sandler or Steve Carell.

I’ve been so cranky this past week that there’s a divot between my eyes, and I’m not sure it’s planning any vacations.  But I am!  My sister, my two favorite cousins and I are going to CABO SAN LUCAS in May to celebrate somebody’s 40th birthday.  I can almost smell the salt air, feel the warm sunshine, taste the pina colada.  Somebody wipe the drool off of my chin, won’t you please?

Here are some random funnies overheard this week:

Alison to her Dad, fresh from the shower:  “I don’t think I’ve seen your feet before.  They’re ugly without socks.”

Blythe, as she hands me my Starbucks Vanilla Frappuccino:  “Here you Ba-ba, Mama.  Pease.  Tane choo.  You welcome.”

Me, to the puppies, as I pooper-scoop: “Don’t step in the poop!  Don’t roll in the poop!  Don’t eat the poop!  Don’t play with the poop!  AAAKKK!”

Alison to me: “When I grow up, I want to be just like Ma’Maw, except I don’t want golden teeth.  Or yellow teeth.  Just white ones.”

Me, to one of our real estate agents, as he holds a chair out for me: “Tane-choo!” 

Me, to myself after the above: “Oh shit, I sound like a total idiot.”