Hockey Sunday.

Clearly I still can't use my damn camera. I took this with some sort of telephoto contraption on my lens and this is what I got.  But seriously.  THAT MUSTACHE.

Dorothy slept the 35 minutes to the hockey rink, and then that was it for nap today, so she was kind of a pain in the ass from about 1:30 until, oh, BEDTIME.

Him, too.

Totally delightful.

Ben took Harry into the rink to put his smelly gear on, and I was playing What Does the Fox say on endless repeat for Cooper and stalling for a few minutes so I didn't have to take everyone in by myself.  Naturally, I took a few selfies and OMG the wrinkles!  This camera does not miss a trick.

I am for sure 5 years younger than I look in those pictures.  With a smaller nose and tinier pores.  I swear.

Cooper immediately needed to go to the snack bar for a "hot chockie."  He was going to get "MMs" but he changed his min in lone, reasoning, "No, I have MMs at my house."

An action shot!  We only got the back of him in every other freaking picture.

Mon. Ster.

But a cute one.

#98.  He had 2 assists and a goal.

Tried to get a picture of our divided house.  Chaos ensued.

We went out last night, and adorable Jack took our picture standing on a kitchen chair (I MUST BE SHOT FROM ABOVE.  It is in my contract) and tried really hard to get our bodies and heads in the shot.  He kept moving the chair "farder" back.

Mid dinner.  Strong margaritas.  Too strong.  My liver hates me today.

Seriously.  They were twerking.

Really fun night.

I woke up at like 4, and the flutter of my eye lashes against my cheeks hurt my head from the top of my skull all the way down my spine.  I stumbled into the bathroom to choke down a fistful of Motrin with a splash of sink water.  Then I slept until 7 with a heating pad on the back of my head.

When Cooper woke me up, he and I went to get a million donuts because I needed something to soak up all the extra tequila and rumchatta in my stomach.  Too old to be so hungover.  See the picture above.