Hope There’s No Emergency

On Friday we went to Kangaroo Zoo to celebrate my niece’s 3rd birthday. (Warning: the website kind of made my eyeballs hurt. Maybe that’s just me.) A few points of interest from that trip:

• My children are big pansies. I’ll give Little G a pass, but Big G? The kid who thinks jumping on my bed is the most awesome thing ever? No. I guess I should be glad he’s not a daredevil, but it’s sad when the girl cousin a year younger than him is 50 times more adventurous.
• Little G is a kleptomaniac. He kept grabbing bags of chips, cups, balls, etc. and trying to make a break for it. I love him, but I’m not about to buy him a $3 bouncy ball. I did break down and buy a $1 bag of chips, because they don’t allow outside food and my children were starving to death. I felt very Britney Spears when I ended up with a cheeto trail on my clothes.
• Kangaroo Zoo is the last place I want to be if there’s an emergency. Behold:

Really, Kangaroo Zoo?

I’m tempted to report them. It’s a place that gets packed with kids who run and jump and scream. Can you imagine what would happen if they had a fire?

I feel like a crabby old lady party-pooper. Am I a crabby old lady party-pooper if I report them to the city?

Just so you know, Car is going out of town tomorrow. For a week. Hopefully that doesn’t mean you’ll have to read a bunch of mopey posts again, but I make no guarantees.

Also coming up: I’m participating in a challenge to improve my blog. I know you’re wondering how my blog could possibly be better, right? Right?!

You’re all a bunch of jerks. I’ll see you tomorrow: Same bat-time, same bat-channel.