Sundays are just plain hard when there are little ones in the house. Either your plans of sleeping in fell to naught and everyone was grumpy and tired the entire time you were getting ready for church. Or you actually did sleep in and therefore everything was rushed and you were finally getting into the…
Two-year-old Mary Kate beats us to the punch: “Not. Tided.” she announces with punctuated finality. “Tided” of course is “tired”. And she’s most definitely not “tided”, since rubbing the eyes, fussing, whining, and nearly falling asleep at the table are all not signs of being “tided.” I’ll be the first to admit that I’m tided,…
The End.
The End.