I mean, really…at 34 years old I really should have this whole getting out of the house on time thing down pat. You’d think so, but eh, not so much. There’s always a child or two to feed, clothe, talk off the ledge of a… tantrum, argue with about brushing their hair and then there’s this damn Facebook thing that, without fail, always gets in my way of being punctual. 35, I’m counting on you to be the magic year…the year I finally get my shit together.
Where's the f*#king mommy manual?!? 