I just finished eating my lunch. It's 2 p.m. I started eating lunch at noon, but I swear my children are in some conspiracy to never allow me to sit down and eat again.
My lunch started out with a lovely piece of toast, cooked by my sweet and humming daughter Hannah. Hannah is now downstairs, kicking the wall. It makes me want to scream, but then I'd have to engage her and I've been losing all of my skirmishes and battles with my children lately, so I'm just going to pretend I don't hear that ANNOYING noise and that we didn't just spend months and months re-painting and decorating that room.
Anyway, lunch. It started on the front porch, with toast. No I don't usually eat on my front porch, and I'd love to finish sarcastically relating the harrowing events of my lunch, but the baby is crying. I used up my 20 minutes of free-from-children time eating. EATING. I was planning to blow off a little steam by blogging, but now I'm off to feed the baby. Should I tie Hannah's legs up first, or let her be?