I'm A Survivor..

Just puttin' out there that since purchasing our cozy little red house built circa 1965.. I have lived, and and somehow survived, for 2 1/2 years NOT having a dishwasher, or air-conditioning. I'm a regular pioneer.
I'm not saying my hand-washed dishes are spotless. (My boys LOVE to point out, and gross out, when they find a little peanut butter or cream cheese dried on a fork. GET OVER IT dudes. You guys think showering once a week is sufficient.. but a dried Rice Krispy stuck in your bowl is gonna put ya over the edge?)
And I'm not saying that sittin' here at midnight after an 85 degree day.. that I'm not a little moist on my upper lip.
I'm just saying, I've made it this far.
That's all.

Kay.. That's NOT that Funny.. I Don't Care Who Ya Are..

Last night, just about midnight.. on our way home from a Bees game in Salt Lake..
Sophie-- obviously, and understandably tired..
chose to repeat,
in THE whiniest,
moaniest,
possibly MOST irritating tone EVER..
"Just TELL me we're HOME!
Just TELL me, we're HOME..
Just TELL me we're HOME!"
for exactly one, half, of an hour.

I of course attempted, more than 5 times, to just comply and say,
"O.K. We're home."
Even though, obviously, we were not.
To which she would continue..
"Just TELL me, we're HOME."

I'd like to believe holding back the urge to shove my hoodie in her mouth,
somehow built my character, and proved what a patient, loving sorta Mom I am.
But truth be told, looking back,
I think I was just way too tired,
and it was WAY too much effort to crawl into the back,
and do anything about it.

Now THAT'S Funny.. I Don't Care Who Ya Are..

Sophie, today..
carrying over a box of Frosted Mini-Wheats.. declared:
"I'd like some of these bad boys."