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T is for Tired


Where's that white flag?
Sweet Lincoln's mullet, I am tired.
Mrs. Shife left yesterday to go to a continuing ed conference and I am all alone.
Things were going pretty well until bedtime.
Kyle and Hayden decided they wanted to sleep in my bed and that was an adventure.
I felt like I was fighting Mike Tyson with all the body blows and head shots I got during the evening.
Oh, and Ms. Frizzle was in the bed also.
Yay!
And she's a blanket hog.


She lays on top of them and then spreads herself out like she's in the final round of Twister.
Unless you keep your Craftsman 2-1/2 ton floor jack under the nightstand in the bedroom, you aren't getting the blankets back.
But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
I took the afternoon off today so I thought I could probably squeeze in a nap before the kids get home from school.
Yay!
Then I forgot that we were watching Nash, the almost 1-year-old golden doodle, today.
You remember Nash, right?
The last time we watched him we had an awkward moment with Kyle dry-humping pillows.
Feel free to read all about it right here.
I'm not going anywhere.
And you're back.
I tried napping but Frizzle and Nash are about as subtle as a fart in a crowded elevator.
They have been going at it the minute Nash walked through the door and it doesn't like it's going to end anytime soon.




It's like they know I want to take a nap and once I start to doze off then it's ... 
Bite.
Growl.
Bark.
Slobber.
Run.
Knock down something.
Lick private parts.
Hear Mr. Shife use new and exciting cuss words.
Repeat until evening.
Yay!
Happy Friday, everybody.




I will persevere. I will keep moving forward. I will be the stream.



This post first appeared on Confessions Of A Dumb, White Guy, please read the originial post: here

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T is for Tired

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