Huh. Part II.

I love you all. I really do. And normally, I'd take this out on the opposing team by making mean faces at them or photoshopping them into some sort of life-threatening situation, but the time has come to take responsibility for our own actions.

Guys.... last night was UGLY. And we're not talking bridesmaids dress ugly. We're talking meth-addict ugly. We're talking shot into the sky with a cannon, splatted all over the ground and then beat 87 times with the ugly stick ugly.

I don't like yelling. I don't like anger or confrontation. So instead, I'll just passive aggressively glare at you, raise one eyebrow and say "You KNOW what you did." Cause guys... you do know what you did. But then I see this sad picture of little Scotty Baker and I feel bad for getting mad at my boys. Kind of like when I want to yell at Merlin after he chews my shoes or eats the cookies I left on the coffee table, but then he looks at me with those sad little puppy eyes and I can't be mad anymore. And then I hug him and pretend it never happened. That's going to be tough in this situation.

The following represents a ratio of my happiness factors. As you can see, Twins, your well-being is pretty influential.

Unacceptable. Fix this please.

All my unconditional love,



  1. I hope that I bleed over a little bit between Friends and Twins--I like to think that I defy classification

  2. Are you kidding? You practically have your own pie chart.