So I knocked my phone under the bed when we left for the hospital. I just now found it. Consider this my returning all the hundred and two missed calls. I'm not checking voicemails so you might wanna just try again if it was important.
I'm pretty sure the food in the fridge is starting to breed. I don't remember where at least two of the four casseroles came from. Guessing the seventeen pies are from Isabel.
I know I've been a bit of a beast lately. You know. Sorry.
Why the hell am I still crying at every damn thingJack's poop-face is the best thing ever.