by my six-year old of being as lovely and caring as Petunia Dursley today.
My arm hurts, my kids (god love'm) are being hopelessly destructive and out-of-control. I think that the impending end of summer is doing us all in. And, the hunk of plaster on my forearm is exacerbating my crankiness.
I can bitch in more detail when it doesn't hurt so blooming much.