Okay, let's talk about foster kids. Why? Because I said so. Foster kids kill me. I fret about "who we're gonna get" until I have the trots. And then we "get them" and it's like "oh, this isn't so bad" and then they start to settle in and I'm like "whoa, nelly. This business be crazy, yo."
Seriously though, they are great kids. Ten and thirteen year old brothers who have to share a room at my house, which apparently is the "worst thing evah" for the ten year old.
Excuse me, sir. I have to share a room so why shouldn't you??
So, I've been pondering their nick names for the purposes of this here blog. It's obvious the little one will be forever known as Chill because never, in the history of relaxed people, has there been a more chill dude. In fact, sometimes he's so chill I wonder if he's still breathing.
And then there is the big one. A brand new teenager. And man oh man, can this dude talk. He talks and talks and talks and when he's not talking I have to check if he's still breathing. Because geez Louise, surely when you talk that much, and then stop talking, its because you are not breathing.
So then I get the trots from checking everyone's pulse all the time.
But, he hasn't talked himself to death yet. I do declare, though, he's working on it.
And everything he says starts with, "What happens if..."
Him: what happens if I eat this?
Me: ummm, your tummy gets full??
Him: what happens if that guy falls?
Me: ummm, he might get hurt??
Him: what happens if....
Me: for the love!!! Nothing!! Nothing happens! The world still spins. The sun still shines. Life goes on, buddy. It's okay.
We shall call him ChitChat. Because, mercy, the chitchatting.
So, there you have it. A brief introduction to the two human beings who have flown into my life and given me the endless trots.
My poor nerves.
In conclusion, here is a convo I had with ChitChat about the necessity of diet Pepsi.
ChitChat: why do you drink so much diet Pepsi?
Me: the same reason you breathe so much air.
ChitChat: I breathe air so I can live.