Realizations From Being Isolated

My family goes through entire bags of chips at an alarmingly-quick rate.

We depend on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse a lot more than our pediatrician would recommend.

My two dogs have been hosting a Fight Club for the past 45 minutes.

The sound of a scooting kitchen chair is worse than that of an alarm clock because it means I have to get up AND yell at someone for climbing on a counter.

I did not buy nearly enough dinosaur chicken nugs, ice cream, or frozen french toast sticks.

There’s a bird in our garage.

When you freeze milk, it takes at least two whole freaking days to thaw.

My two year old thinks the Keurig is a toy.

The kids’ homeschool teacher took a personal day yesterday, so today that bitch better get with it.

It’s me. I’m that bitch.

We probably don’t need all the DVD’s my two year old just emptied out of a cabinet.

My kids have been wearing sun dresses and shorts all week.

I forget what makeup-wearing me looks like.

I haven’t done the dishes in three days because it’s not like we’re having guests any time soon.

I thought I needed to hide all the Doomsday Cookies from the kids, but it, in fact, was the hubs I needed to worry about.

Laundry detergent and milk run out quicker when you aren’t planning to leave the house.

When I run out of clean sweatpants, my husband’s boxers are a suitable substitute.

I have had to stop Little Guy from trying to chop tomatoes with a steak knife 3 times in the past 24 hours.

“For the love of God,” is my most-used phrase of 2020 thus far.

Make that 4 times with the steak knife.

I haven’t worn socks in 7 days.

Every time I look at my phone, I’m convinced I’m going to start seeing reports of zombies emerging.

Thank God we have Twinkies.

I should probably take this extra time to organize something.

My kids have too many toys.

I can’t secretly throw away anything they don’t play with because they’re home every day and will catch on.

My dog, Eleanor Rigby, sleeps on her back with her hind-legs stretched wide open like a floozy.

Fight Club is over.

It’s OK because when my two older kiddos wake up, their Fight Club will begin.

I still want Hubs to come home from work.


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