*Image courtesy of Tonyhawk.com*
The Red Sox are 2-9, Trot can't stop peeing in everything BUT the toilet, Ciera has gone from my baby girl to a sullen, moody teenager apparently overnight and Rakes has once again started stammering in a way that makes Mel Tillis look like the poster child for perfect diction.
I fell like I'm at the top of Nob Hill, sitting in a Radio Flyer Red Wagon with no seat belt, no cushion at the end, and Jr standing behind me yelling "Remember the Alamo!" at the top of his lungs.
In other words?
I'm totally screwed.