My husband works... A lot. ..Long hours. Every single day. Which leaves me alone with the kids. Everyday he comes home and asks.. "Why are you always in a bad mood?" Well, geez.. Take your pick.. Could it be from repeating myself 74 times in 3 hours? Could it be, googling... how to remove sharpie from a dog's belly because they attempted to draw a chicken and call it a tattoo? (the answer is nail polish remover) Could it have something to do with the fact someone got a legit blood gushing gash and all the bandaids are most likely on stuffed animals, a Barbie, or on the screen door to cover up a hole and keep the bugs out.. Could it be the countless people that come to my house, pound on the door and ask.. . "Ma'am..are those your cows on the road?" . Oh.. And you haven't lived until you find yourself scrubbing cheese curl vomit out of the carpet.. So yea..