I// spent all weekend at my parents' house and came home to find that my wonderful new co
uch had been delivered. Can you heart the heavenly host of angels singing? Ahh, damn, I love my couch. I love that I don't have to lay on the floor to watch any television show past 8:30pm (a time that no one should be required to sit in a straight-backed chair). I love that it now feels liks "home" rather than, "the sad place that I decided to move into because I didn't want to live with my parents forever". I still have to clean up EVERY NIGHT so the ants don't attack us in our sleep and my wool rug is still shedding so much that the vacuum cleaner works out more frequently than I do. And, yes, I still have to walk to a sketchy dumpster at the end of the parking lot to throw away my trash, but....the place is mine.
Just because it's Monday, I thought I would share my favorite pictures of Zac with the FOB:
Yep, that is my little man, beating up his biological father (No, I can't bring myself to call him his "Daddy". That man is not my child's Daddy) . I like to think he's defending my honor, like: "Why weren't you there when my Mommy was vomitting during labor because I didn't want to descend in the birth canal? Huh? Huh? Yeah, that's what I thought. No answer, sucka. I'm going to hit you and you're going to like it. Biotch"
Then there is this picture:
I think I'm going to keep this picture around when Zac is a teenager and wants to rebel. It will be like that old commercial: "This is your brain (an egg). This is your brain on drugs (egg frying in the frying pan." Only with Zac it will be, "This is half of your genetic chromosomes. This is half of your genetic chromosomes after thirty years of drinking and smoking. You decide."