I am choosing napping over writing a coherent post. Admit it: you would do the same.
Sam is wearing shorts and a T-shirt and I have to stop myself from biting him. He is impossibly soft.
A motorcycle always decides to rev its engine in front of our house the moment Sam falls asleep.
Never underestimate the amount of time a little boy can spend in a dirty, dangerous garage.
Capri pants. Flip flops. March.
Must. Get. Pedicure.
Gifford’s Lobster Track ice cream. Look it up. Drool.
Pounds lost since January:12. Willpower required not to eat entire tub of ice cream: inhuman.
Is “inhuman” a word?
There goes the motorcycle again.