James is the luckiest bastard I know.
Except, of course, for the fact that he’s stuck with me via Catholic wedding vows. Muah ha ha haaaaa!
I’m not going to disclose why. Just in case anyone important ever reads this.
But know this. He truly is the luckiest son-of-a-bitch ever. And this isn’t even about his amazing ability to pull a phenomenal partner EVERY. TIME. HE. COMPETES.
I rest my case.
Any parent who doesn’t actually strangle their child during the agonizing two hours of naptime while their 2-almost-3-year-old does absolutely everything in her power to DRIVE HER PARENT CRAZY is a saint.
I must be a saint.
The fact that I let Julie’s nap rebellion slide without so much as a spanking even in my pre-Prozac days is a damn near miracle.
Granted, I’ve gone through half a Symphony chocolate bar trying to distract myself, but God bless me for my patient ways.
I most definitely better be earning my cozy seat in heaven.
**Yanks hair out while eyeball is twitching.**