Diary of a wimpy mom.

So, I found a list book. I told you Raynard makes lists. Because I am married to Raynard, I try to make lists. I am real good at it if I do the task on the list right away. If I put it off, I forget.
I forget what my list was for. Making cake? Or sex?

Whip cream
Chocolate syrup
cake decorations
garden hose

…was all that was on that list, it could go either way. Just saying.

Turns out Stinky Pete is a lot more like Raynard than me. He loves lists, he loves doing homework, he has to stay home and go to bed on time to function right the next day. Stinky Pete is a weird kid.

So I have a small list making book that I lose quite often… and there is no list to tell me where I put it. I found the book on my desk the other day. In it Stinky Pete had started his own wimpy kid diary.

1st entry:

Dear Diary, (I edited the spelling… yes me. Otherwise you would have seen Daer Dairy)
I be good every day.

AWWW Sweet boy…

2nd entry:

Dear Diary,
I feed the dog ketchup. And let her lay on the sofa.

I giggled so hard I peed a little.

But with Thanksgiving right around the corner, it got me thinking of all I am so very grateful for. Some Diary entries I could have run across:

Dear Diary,
The dog tells me to do stuff… bad stuff.

Dear Diary,
I pee when I laugh.

Dear Diary,
I run away but the chip from my anal probe always leads me home.

Dear Diary,
I start fires when they are not looking.

And at the end of it all I am reminded of the many blessings of my life: the family, the security, the friends, the food, the wine, the large hips, the health of people I love, the job I am bad at and the adult diaper.

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