After a stellar showing during week one of our family fantasy football league, kickbuttmama is in the lead.
YESSSSSSSSSS!!!! Mom is the best! Mom is the best!
But I can’t gloat too much. I beat the dog.
Of course, I was surprised that when I threatened to beat my eight year old, who I am pitted against next week, he talked football. He’s apparently switching his quarterbacks, and with Matt Ryan at the helm, he thinks he can win.
I have nothing to say to that. No valid football expertise with which to smack-talk back.
The fact that I only beat the dog didn’t weigh into it. I forget that the kids think our dog is smart. Beating her is a victory like any other.
So, though I may have a championship team of players, I just danced around the kitchen taunting my boys with “kickbuttmama rocks!”
Ignoring me, the eight-year-old sports fan rubbed behind the dog’s ears and told her not to worry, she will beat his little brother next week. “I didn’t know mom was that good either.”