Or at least my kids think I'm crazy. Then again, I think other people think I'm crazy. At work, I will say to myself out loud, "Am I crazy?" and Paul will pipe up and say, "You need to ask?" Take tonights dinner converstation with G for instance. E had eaten and left the table, D was out mowing the lawn and it was just G and I. He says, "Where are all the Buzzerts?". I reply, "Buzzert? Don't you mean Buzzards?". He fires back, "No Buzzerts. You said they were called Buzzerts". I promptly state, "I don't like it when you do that... You and E are always telling me things that I KNOW I DIDN'T SAY". G then responds with, "Are you CRAZY?!"
Yes G... Indeed I am. I am a Putterlette. (My parent's are known as The Putters, and no one is crazier than they are) Huggs and kisses Momma if you're reading this!
The ironic part about it is that the kids are what make you crazy! I'm a lot crazier now than I was a year and a half ago.
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