Last night, we were watching (insert predictable crime show, here) and the plot was, one parent died, and the kids were stuck with the other parent.
Hubby and I commented that the sons sure would be bored, with me, because Hubby is a notorious risk-taker, with many a near-death experience behind him, while I am, well, a mom with a literature degree who keeps her risks safely in her head or on paper. As the Sons were trying, lamely, to convince me that nooooo, I am not boring, they wouldn't mind living with me, they love me, la la la, Hubby piped up with:
"Yeah, but WHICH one of us nearly got her ass handed to her, in bar fights, TWICE this year?"
The boys all looked at me in awe. I am their biker bar brawl mama. Wooooo!
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