Pickle Dickle

The past few weeks have been incredibly hectic in our household.  We are celebrating our 4 year anniversary in a few days and my sister is getting married at the end of the month.  On top of our busy schedules, I have mono.  Who the hell knows how I got that, but it explains why I have felt like a walking crypt keeper the past month.  So between anniversary dinners and surprises, bachelorette party wieners, and dress/tux fittings, we have no idea what day it is 90% of the time. None the less, life goes on like normal in our household.  Full of sass.

I have been trying all kinds of new recipes to try and get the sass to eat more than just cardboard and drywall.  (Yep, sass chewed on the corner of one of our walls a few weeks ago….Again, goat.) I also found little gnaw marks on my table.  She still would rather chug along burning what little calories she consumes and pigs out every third day or so on lots of cheese and carbs.  (she is soooooooooo my kid, thank god she doesn’t have my ass) Anywhoooo, her latest and greatest, pickles.  She has always been partial to pickles, but she walks around doing the sign for “more” after I give her one pickle spear.  Thing is, she won’t eat the skin of the pickle.  She basically eats it like corn.  I have found pickle skins in the following places (this is not a witty name for condoms either—literal pickle skins) Closed up in my work laptop.  Under the couch.  In the entertainment center drawer.  Back of the toilet, and winnnerrrrrrrrrrr in her father’s lunchbox.  Also, on my pickle scavenger hunt I also found a butter knife in the toy box- so she is apparently also into weaponry or is training to be a ninja.


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