I'm at my friend's house, sitting to her left, while she boobs her newest kid. The girls (my 2 and her 1) are upstairs, making lots and lots of noise, and causing us to look up towards the ceiling every once in a while to ensure the sheetrock isn't coming down. Little voices are echoing down the stairs, yelling, "Come on!" And, because we're mothers, we're discussing the variable costs of daycare, wherein I interject, "Shit, I could buy a pimp for that much," and because she so knows me, she just continues on with her conversation.
We've already discussed Matthew McConnaughey, Harry Connick Jr., and my Harry Potter fetish. --Not sure exactly what it is about Harry Potter. Could be the schoolboy looks, or that he's hiding something under that robe of his. Rowr. He could be my little bitch.-- So, one of the kiddos is screaming--it's not mine, but I go check because I'm sure one of mine caused the tears. I go upstairs and my small one is nowhere to be found. I hear giggles, walk into the master bedroom, and Clairey is jumping on the bed. Nice. It's a king-sized bed and Claire's, like, 22 inches tall--she looks like a little elf. Hilarious. Shoulda got a picture.