Please don't give me your baby to hold so you can help your child with her Valentine project during the party, come back ten minutes later and tell me said baby has a fever and a rash that you think *might* be chicken pox. You know, better yet? Don't bring the baby to a party full of sugared up three year olds at all and expose them to any of it.
If you do that again, I'm going to raise your child's tuition to cover the costs of installing a decontamination shower just inside the door of my home.
You've been warned.
Man, do three year olds know how to party hard. Apparently to them a party isn't a success unless you've gotten icing up to your elbows, a kickin' juice mustache, and paste in your hair. Anything beyond that is bonus.
As you can tell, the parties are planned and run by the parents. So then why am I exhausted? I'm supposed to be writing now since we're going to be buried in a foot and a half of snow by tomorrow. No writing gets done on snow days over here at Casa de Quinn (or Chez Quinn for all my French Canadian silent lurkers).
So as I type, I'm taking a page out of the three year olds' book and juicing up on caffeine. If only I could get a sweet juice mustache going, I know it would make all the difference.
|This would be a kickin' diet coke mustache, dontcha think? (picture from yahoo celebrity ca.)|
Hope you're getting lots of words on the page, or whatever it is that you love to do- done.
Until next time, Citizens.