By A Whisker
by“Who’s the ugly one with the whiskers?” Miss7 asked her mother.
“Who’s the ugly one with the whiskers?” Miss7 asked her mother.
As it turns out, Easter is also the busiest time of the year to go camping.
I’m in trouble. Again.
Here’s a recipe to help give you more time for the important stuff this Australia Day.
This is the post that started my writing career. Here’s the first thing I ever wrote for any site. The twelve year old in this is now Mister27.
So now I know what it’s like to be blogged about it. And, despite the unflattering portrayal, I like it.
It turns out Easter is the busiest time of the year to go driving.
We don’t get many plumbers in around here. Maybe if we did we’d have known to watch for this.
I’m never very good in social situations. And I don’t just mean at parties. I mean whenever I leave the house.
“Stop!” Tracey yelled, coming into the kids’ bedroom. “What are you doing?” What I was doing was standing in front of the mirror with Miss11 explaining one of the funnest things about her impending adolescence.
I knew we were in trouble the moment Dad arrived home with the new tent.
Until tonight I really thought I was starting to get the hang of these self service check outs.
The house was as groomed as any bride heading off to meet her betrothed at the alter…
Under oath I’ll swear I was being a good, responsible dad. The circumstantial evidence, however, is really stacked against me.