statistics, statistics, exchange some pants, statistics, oh coffee, mommy is trying to study, statistics, hey how about some statistics, dinner, tagalongs, and statistics.
Today is shaping up to be pretty much the same. I've got more review and whatnot to do, carpool to add to the mix, and a two year old that has decided she will scream bloody murder whenever her daddy leaves the room.
This creates a problem considering he left for work 10 minutes ago.
Be grateful blogs don't come with sound-o-vision.
Plus, I have to come up with and commit to a term project topic by Wednesday. Not a big deal except when I tried to brainstorm with my husband I ended up having Lorena Bobbit-esque thoughts* that pretty much involved him crying like a little girl.
I fucking see you rolling your eyes, Andy!
When it comes to school related stuff we don't work well together. Ever. He tried once to help me with statistics and I'm pretty sure we were researching divorce lawyers in the yellow pages by the end of the day.
So, with the baby screaming at my feet, my son's constant need to ask about yogurt smoothies, my oldest' ability to break her zipper every single time she zips her jacket, and the other duties of motherhood calling, I'm debating the benefits of just forfeiting the day now. Before it's too late.
After all, it could very well save a penis.
*Hubby, I do not mean to talk ill of your manly areas. You know I have nothing but love for your penis. I was just referencing Lorena Bobbit for dramatic purposes. Smooches!*
