I truly am beginning to believe that I will die of a stroke during the last day of cookie season one day. The stress of this time of year is . . . . ugh! (unrepeatable) But after a quick trip to Walmart at 10:30pm (the money was all due at midnight), I am finished. Both troops are finished. We are done. The council will not repossess my first born because our money was not all in.
It never fails. I am not the cookie mom in either troop and yet I feel the stress. It would be worse if I was the cookie mom. Which is perhaps why Chris forbids me from doing it.
But . . . I am done.
Except for the 70 boxes of unsold cookies between the two troops. Cookies anyone?
The Puddles 
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