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(gratuitous shot of Ivy, having nothing to do with this post, other than 'isn't she adorabel?')

Christofer called me yesterday.

"So," he said. "I see our damn kids broke your shoe."

I hate it when he checks my blog at work.

he was a little concerned about my language. Well, to be honest, he's been a little concerned about my language ever since I accidently taught William to say "stupid" two days ago, but this time he was mostly concerned that the joking, crotchety, 'these darn kids better get off my lawn' voice I was going for wouldn't be clear to people reading my blog.

and of course he's right: that's quite a bit of voice to work into two words.

Although I'm convinced that the majority of people who read my blog know I was kidding (I'm not really a curse-er), Christofer has a point: perhaps it is not politic to swear in reference to one's children on a blog that one's parents might read, that one's husband's parents might read, that various and sundry relatives might read, that one's bishop's wife might read, that maybe, someday, one's kids might read.

I'm pretty sure you already know this, but however frustrating my kids are (and, I assure you, they can be Very Frustrating) I find them surpassingly wonderful. They are loving and funny and kind-hearted. They are energetic and hilarious and delightful. For every time they make me want to scream, they make me want to smile and laugh a hundred more.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is,

I love my damn kids.