Forget all that sappy stuff I wrote in my earlier post about Mother’s Day.
Holy mother of madness.
That’s all I can say about this one.
Pregnant for more than 11 of her 41 years? Does she just burp and they fall out? Would it have been so bad to pick a different letter for each of the kids’ names, rather than the same one? They’d make it through at least one round of the alphabet, maybe more at the rate they’re going.
Okay, each to his own, but the idea of more than 2 kids, no less 18 kids, in my house arguing about Pokemon cards and TV shows and homework and who’s going to take a shower first and so-and-so’s bothering me and when can I drive the car — AND trying to remember their freakin’ names — makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I know they believe it is God’s will to keep having children, and that’s fine, but methinks God may be out running heavenly errands at Walgreens and has lost count Himself. Well, hey, best of luck to them. Hopefully she’ll at least get breakfast in bed tomorrow!