My team lost.
The game was so exciting, there was yelling, dancing, and -up til the last oh, 50 seconds- big shit eating grins.
Ok, just one of those.
Queasy stomach from the adrenaline crash.
Baby learned some new curse words.
* Note to self-there is now a rather large girl shaped parrot in the house-tone down the cussing!*
I discovered this morning that I had shouted my throat raw.
I sound like I swallowed a bucket of gravel.
This morning Baby decided to make toast.
Here is her idea of toast:
Notice that the butter is in chunk format and not spread on the bread.
Just 2 tablespoons, maybe 3 of butter plopped on her "toast".
Which is not toasted.
She does not like her bread burned after all.
She made herself a couple of pieces of butter toast last night too.
Exactly like this one.
And now this is what my kitchen looks like:
Each one shy 2-3 tablespoons of being a full stick.
Why did she get a fresh stick of butter each time?
And what am I going to do with all that softened butter?
At least I have something else to think about.
I believe I shall have a nice cup of tea and ponder.
And maybe some toast.
Only mine will be burned.