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That Witchypoo, has got me spilling my guts in emails to her AND since she had me be an active part in her post I thought, hey, I can at least pull something together from an email I sent her. We do a lot of chit-chatting, she and I.
I know how the following, (gulp), paragraph looks, but I really did take a breath in there somewhere.
It’s been one of those days, ya know? Started laundry. Folded a load of clothes from yesterday. Kes and The Boyfriend went to get the Adirondack chairs for John for Father’s Day. H had an early poop and was kind of freaked out about it. Did the entire thing in her diaper before I could get her on bedpan. It ran out the sides of diaper while I was changing her and for reasons still unknown to me, I made her bed ready last night without a chux so there was shit all over the sheet. More laundry. Ran out of laundry detergent. Sat down in floor ready to put the new chairs together. Ran out of juice in the cordless drill/screwdriver, so it’s charging. H had another U.P. Once again, she did it all in the diaper. That makes it harder to clean her up, but this time she didn’t have that much left. Now she’s a bit freaked out due to two, er, make that TWO, U.P. in one day. Convinced I gave her a laxative. “Krissa, did you give me a laxative?” I look pointedly confused and reply, “When would I have given you a laxative?” “Well, did you?” “Think about it Henrietta, when would I have given it to you?” “Ohhhh I don’t know…” “Well, DID I GIVE YOU ANY MEDICINE OR NOT?” “Well…. no, just my two pills last night…” OK, I didn’t give you a laxative!” She is now in there repeatedly trying to pick up something off the floor with her little grabbing tool she uses and is dropping the object over and over. I have gone over with her how to do it time and time again. SHE. CAN. NOT. GET. IT.
Shit. SIL just showed up and I gotta go explain what all H is talking about when she starts bitching to her.