Tired.

I've always prided myself on having polite children. The ones that can talk say "Please", "Thank you", "Bless you", etc. You hold the door for the person behind you, you don't interrupt and you chew with your mouth closed. Well, one out of three ain't bad, right? Right? ::::crickets chirping::::

Tay is doing well, yet she's at the preteen age so most everything we've taught her has been transformed into knowing the littlest details of the Jonas brother's lives. Super. I can't get her to swallow her chicken before she tells me about her day, but I know who Joe (or is it Nick? Maybe it's the other one...) is dating. Then there's Cole. Oh. Good. God. He'll dump jello on his stir fry and politely ask for more with a sweet angelic smile and a "thank you" when you oblige (and why do I do that?). When we had Lexi I contemplated asking for a receipt before we left the hospital, just in case!

As much as I could go for a beer, I fear I'm too tired to drink the whole thing and then I'd have to yell at myself for wasting it. I'm a can freak. If you leave a pop can around and there is warm liquid in it, you better look for someone else to blame if you want another in the near future. I hate yelling at myself because I'm such a smarta** so I never really win the argument anyway.

Cole just informed me that he had a dream in which a cow bit him. On the back. He's almost 3, has seen cows 5 times in his life, and found this dream to be funny. It would not surprise me if he thanked the cow afterwards....