This past Sunday we ate horribly. I mean the food tasted good. It just wasn't what I would call healthy. We had donuts with white flour, angel food cake, and baseball game fare. It was Father's Day and Dave's birthday so we had an excuse.
Then it all caught up with me. Well, not really me, but with the boys and their stomachs (and so me by extension). And I won't explain much further than that. . . But there was my proof in the laundry basket that eating healthy really does matter.
Dave felt bad for me after I texted him and told him that one kid was on outfit change #3 so he brought me some coffee after work. Win! It wasn't even that bad of an ordeal for me. I should text him more often.
Maybe I could tell him things like:
"Breakfast today consisted of the boys spitting and saying things like 'He shot his germ at me!'"
"A. thought those five minutes in the car were a real nap."
"Our four-year old talked back to me. I'm not ready."
"I baked and now the kitchen is a mess. I'm avoiding that room. Who am I kidding? The whole house is a mess. I'm hiding on the porch."
"It's bloody hot outside."
I wouldn't mind an iced decaf mocha every day. . . and I kind of feel like every day deserves one.
Do you think it will work?
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