The boys like to torture me. Apparently so do my friends. Cole started yelling because he couldn't find his flashlight - at 5:00 am. At 5:15 Roark started blowing a whistle - a whistle that Jayson, my friend, gave him last night. I now hate the flashlight, the whistle, and Jayson.
Because it is my morning to get up with them and I had zero patience, we are at McDonalds carb-loading for the day of errand--running torture that lies ahead. Everytime Cole runs away to play, he asks if I will miss him. Everytime Roark takes a bit of food, he wants recognition.
It is early. I am sleepy. And yet I am overwhelmed by how fun and silly they are.