Monday, November 20, 2006


My kids...I tell you....The other day, I was frying catfish for Sunday supper. The grease was hot and poppin'. Dylan was supposed to be helping me cook supper as his chore for the day. He was over doing some dishes. I was standing with Wade as he was "helping" to direct me in if the fish was done or not. Just then the grease popped and landed on my hand. It was hot and burnin'. My first instinct was to scream an explicative, but I am a mom and so I have trained myself not to say those kinds of words. So, instead, I chose to scream out, "SON OF A BIOTCH!"

Dylan turns and looks and says, "What's a biotch?"

Mother of the year=Me


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