My kids have so much energy, it makes me want to cry. Actually, it does make me cry. Often.
I don’t cry well. At least, not like delicate females. I am the most liquified, mucus-y, red-nosed, bleary-eyed crier ever. I never understood it when I’d read a story that described a woman who would weep, and then dab her eyes. Dabbing? Seriously?
With me there is no dabbing. Honking, hiccupping, and snorting, yes. Dabbing, not so much. When I cry, it requires a half a box of tissues, minimum, to mop up the flood. We’re not just talking tears. Ya got yer snot and your saliva to deal with, too. And probably sweat.
But this post isn’t about me and my secretions.
My Varmint and Critter. Their boundless energy. To say they are full of it is the understatement of the century, second only to the statement ‘Saddam Hussein had issues’. We’re talking a
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