And a good morrow to you, poophead
Jon was more than a little crabby this morning. As he left for school, I said, "Have a good morning!", and he replied, "Have a good DOOM." And to make it worse, he added, "I don't mean you, Romeo."
Do you want cheese with that whine?
I didn't realize that, along with every contagious disease that comes down the pike, that I would also catch the dreaded scourge of whining. I was at the doctor's office yesterday, loaded down with sweet little baby, when the receptionist handed me a three page document to fill out. "Do I have to do it now?" I whined.
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