6 is the number of the beast.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

My 6 year old just threw a go-gurt at me. (Future in softball?)

Last night I had to calmly explain to her that I was her mother, not her maid. (Cleanliness is next to godliness, no harm will come to me? Be gone e-coli and salmonella, Lysol be my shield.)

I caught her trying to twerk. (My kid’s going to be the next Gloria Steinem, hope y’all.)

I wish I could confess that I sit around drinking sangria and eating gelato while letting my girls watch Miley twerk and hollering, “see girls, that’s how you get famous!” But I don’t. Shit, they’re not even allowed to watch those horrible Disney shows.

I never throw anything at them, cuss, physically punish them… Unless they’re driving me insane and I lock them in the closet for a couple of days, but that’s called a vacation, right?

Oh man, 6 has been quite the ride. Here’s to 7 not driving me insane.

P.S. Jeremiah left out the part where God looked at mothers and said, “sike suckas!”