I have used the phrase “on my last marble” one too many times. It has now come back to bite me.
This is my go-to when I have no other words to describe how I’m feeling or have no wish to take credit for why I did something very blonde.
I’m afraid my children have caught on to my trick as you can see from the picture below. I’ve now been reduced to a graph, table, or chart of some kind.
This little paper, so I’ve been told, is my brain with all its marbles still intact. From here on out, whenever I make a mistake, such as calling a child the wrong name, one of my cute round marbles will get promptly erased.
I can see this graph will have a life of extremely short duration.
Dad, on the other hand, has quite a different chart he must fill. His is a graph of the pounds he is losing on this diet he has been on.
For every pound he loses, his little belly gets reduced by 3 millimeters.
I’m jealous. His chart has a more glorified end than mine does.
For those of you who are wondering, this graph is being manned by our analytical son, Terrel.
Oops, I meant Derek.
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