I'm usually starving when I get home from work. Lunch is normally something I get to pick at in between answering questions and trying to pretend to care about my coworkers' novelas. When I get home, all I'm dreaming about is:



Until hubby says:



Other times it's hubby's grandma. She still watches the kids sometimes and we can't go without a daily Poop Report.



FYI to the Dinner Wreckers:

I don't want to talk about poop.

I don't want to hear about how your butthole hurts from pooping too much.

I don't care if you shit a boot.

I don't want to hear about how long it took you to poop.

I don't care how watery/squishy/solid/huge the poop was.

I just want to eat my food and not think about poop.

Awright?!