I bark at my children

I know that makes me strange, but it's woefully true. I bark at my children. Sometimes the mood strikes me and I just have to bark. And yes, I mean like a dog. They think it's funny. Or at least they laugh. They probably just think I'm weird. Which I am. But if you can't bark at your children, who can you bark at?

I make other strange noises too. I don't limit myself to barking. I do a pretty darn good horse, but mostly just the galloping part. I think that's why O climbs on me and declares 'horsey' on a regular basis. I squeal at the baby and blow raspberries. I've perfected both of those skills. I can quack like a duck, but I don't waddle. At least not right now. A few months ago, I was most likely waddling.

I realize that I must sound like some kind of Old MacDonald freak, but I'm ok with that.

I spent my teenage years trying to be 'oh so serious'. Sure, I had friends that I let loose with, but I was always worried that people would think I was weird. Well, now that I'm all grown up, I could care less. I am weird! Other people don't have to live with me. And those that do? Well, they get what they get and they don't get to throw a fit. (Thank you preschool teachers for that lovely saying!) And if they throw a fit? Time out for you!

And now you know the truth about me: I bark at my children and I'm proud of it!