We’re going camping. With six kids. Because
Wait. Hang on. I just need one second.
Shoot. I got nothin’.
This isn’t a real blog post. Just FYI. This is a we-just-finished-packing-and-we’re-leaving-in-fifteen-minutes-and-I-have-Lost-My-Ever-Loving-Mind post. Eventually, there will be an oh-silly-me,-camping-is-awesome-with-s’mores-and-sticky-kids-and-cousins-and-beer post. I will have a change of heart. I will overcome. I will persevere. But that time is not now. This is not it. This is the middle-of-childbirth post. Sorry about the mess.
My children are running around like banshees, and the only person that’s less disciplined than them right now is their mother. SHE is farking NUTS, folks. Hollering. Panicking. Packing like there isn’t a supermarket 15 minutes away from the campsite.
Seriously. She needs to chill. Now. Before she breaks someone.
I just had a heart to heart with Google. Even accounting for our supersonic internet speed, Google is way cheaper than therapy. Highly recommend, friends. Highly recommend.
Why can’t I mail people?
(Showing results for dear google why can’t i email people)
No, not “why can’t I e-mail people?” That’s not what I meant at all, Google.
I mean, why can’t I box people up – say, children – and send them in the mail to Antarctica or Africa or Nebraska or something?
(OH! Why didn’t you say so, Beth?)
YES! 75 things to know about Omaha? Packing for Antarctica? Discipline and the Strong Willed Child? EXACTLY where I was headed, Google.
I just… I just feel really heard right now.
Thank you, Google. You always come through for me.