Last night will forever go down in history as the day mom served Strawberry Shortcake for dinner. Not for dessert, for the whole mother-fucking dinner. I didn't quite put it that way to children. But I did have to hold back a few curse words when my son had the balls to ask what was for dessert.
I've never been one of those people who can look in the fridge and create a meal with what is there, unless that meal involves pasta. Somehow I looked at the strawberries I had bought to serve the 10 kids who were supposed to come to Sylvia's birthday party and came up with Strawberry Shortcake. We've always got Bisquick on hand, and we had tons of ice cream from the birthday party that was literally shat upon.
My baby had just spent the entire weekend laying on the sofa with a fever and shitting her guts out, causing us to cancel the poor dear's 3rd birthday party. I was convinced I would take her to the doctor today and she would need to be rushed to the hospital and put on an IV. (I didn't even have to take her to the doctor because she looked so much better this morning, but fatigue and PMS always conjure up these dramatic scenes in my mind). Plus Miguel left for the week and he's starting a new job. Somebody get me some tequila.
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