I love you. I love you. I love you. That is what I am going to tell myself everytime you: throw a fit, refuse to get into your carseat screaming histarically to the point people are going to come to your rescue because they think you are being beaten or something, refuse to come up the stairs until Dad (who is at WORK) will come bring you up, or run outside and leave me a wonderful "present" on the back steps before I could get a new diaper on you. I am also aware that when I say "no", you are secretly laughing on the inside.
Dear Hornady,
I am aware of your greatness Hornady Reloading Press, but I hate your stinkin guts. Ahhh, I said it. It's out in the open for all to hear. I know you make Devin giddy like a little kid because you make it possible to shoot many prairie dogs, but you are overtaking my kitchen. Powders, dyes, shells, sprays, bullets arghh. And yes I do know that you only really take up about a 2ft by 2ft area, but it feels like more to me. I think we are going to have a love-hate relationship for a long time.
Dear Rent Situation,
My life would be a touch easier if I could find a place to rent that will fit our growing family. I don't need a mansion, but I would like to have a choice between "crappy" and "crappier". I would greatly appreciate your cooperation town :)
Dear Mice,
You are sick, nasty, repulsive, dirty, disgusting, vile things and we are not friends. If you come into my house one more time, I will be forced to have Devin throw you out of the house AND I will ask him not to kill you so you can tell all of the other mice that are out side plotting and planning their 'war mission' on us- that next time they will have wished they had watched "The Great Escape" because it will not be pretty. Once again I will repeat, we are not friends!
Ahh. Much better.
