I sort of woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, so everything that the boy was doing, i.e., screaming at the top of his lungs, was driving me crazy. When the boy woke up, he asked me if I had good dreams. I didn’t tell him that I dreamt that I ate four pieces of cake and broke into hives. I told him my dreams were OK. The boy said he had good dreams, but they were scary, which, I suppose, were the same as mine.
We dropped busy daddy off at yoga and now we’re heading out to run some errands before the storms come this afternoon. What’s up with the weird weather lately?