Paul's working late tonight, Yves (who is Yves you wonder? he's the other presence in our lives, living with us for the past two+ months that I have made a gigantic effort not to complain I mean WRITE about) is at his apartment puttering but will be returning home soon to eat, drink, sleep, drink, shower, drink more ... and because it's just me and the kids, I have made crap for dinner.
Why did I think making crap was such a good idea? Sure a dinner of nachos, mozza sticks slathered in a pasta sauce, fresh tomatoes with balsamic dressing and goat cheese (at least that was healthy and yummy!) sounds GREAT when you are tossing ideas out to the kids ... but after? Caulisse de tabarnaque (thank you father-in-law for teaching me to swear in French!) I feel bad.
I'd be a perfect candidate for a Pepto Bismol commercial and man, I'd be dialing right now if they really had a hotline: "You ate what? Really? And how old are you?"
Instead I think I will cuddle with Jakob and watch Van Helsing for the 30th time and avoid the stupid painting and ever approaching deadline ... and perhaps the glass of red wine I'm cradling will make me feel better.
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