Libbey: Mommy, I'm D-U-N with my muffins. Thanks!
Libbey: Yes ma'am, that's how Daddy spells it. D-U-N.
Me: And that's how Mommy's been feeling for 5 days, you most precious child, you future Mrs. Libbey Romero (Threw that one in for Heather's benefit.), you future spelling bee champ.
And this from the child who, when I spelled "M-u-l-c-h" yesterday (so her little sister wouldn't catch on, as that child would eat a truckload of it if we'd let her), replied, "Why are you spelling mulch? That's not a bad word."
She kills me, this 6 year old of mine.
You know what else kills me? Waking this morning with both eyes completely matted and sealed shut with greenish gunk, half hardened and half still gooey. Let's pause now for the inevitable "Ewwwww." It was gross, indeed. Last time I rose like this, I do believe I was 5 years old, wearing my Shaun Cassidy nightgown in my Holly Hobbie bedroom. Da-doo-ron-ron.
This is all I've got for y'all. The persistent, hacking cough, the ever-running nose, the pounding headache and overall weariness have taken their toll. For those of you who've headed over to Lulaville by way of SITS, I apologize for giving you green goo and Tiger Beat circa 1977.
No...I take that back. This is me. Green Goo, former teen heart throbs, misspelled words and all. Love me, love my quirks. Please.