Talar Jag Svenska?

In American vernacular that means "Am I speaking Swedish?"

Yesterday, I had this odd occurrence happen repeatedly over the weekend.  As I stated yesterday, I spent the weekend with a stomach bug.  Saturday after Kent came home, I dragged myself to the store, buying white bread for toast and ginger ale so I could have something easy to drink.  Of course I stated, upon entering my home that the purchased soda was mine, it was not meant for general consumption. 

Sunday was spent napping, eating toast and slowly sipping ginger ale, as it should be.

I figured I needed something more for dinner.  It was time to eat a real meal, so I made a real meal.  I put the children to work running for stuff because I still wasn't up to par.  We had spaghetti with garlic bread.  Everyone enjoyed dinner, some more then others.  Missy picky pants managed to eat spaghetti while leaving oddles of sauce and the minced veggies they contained.  She's amazing.

We had leftovers, enough for dinner tonight.  Kent prefers spaghetti with cheesy garlic bread.  Actually Kent will only eat spaghetti with cheesy garlic bread.  Whatever works.  I used a huge loaf of Italian bread.  We only used half it, I thought to myself "PERFECT" because we can have it for dinner Monday night.

I made a point to tell the kids to put the sauce and bread away and not to touch anything, of course I included our plans too.  It's all for dinner tomorrow night, which is now tonight tonight.

Clear as mud, right?

Now after dinner I felt a little queasy.  It was my first meal after a very long weekend and I was looking forward to a glass of ginger ale.  The sweetness, plus the bubbles, hopefully would settle my stomach.  I go to the fridge, open the door and there's about quarter cup of ginger ale at the bottom of the two liter bottle.

Excuse me?!!

Someone drank my ginger ale!  Missy tween said she only drank a few sips and then when I started to chew her out and she got very defensive saying she was always being blamed and I'm going, hey, you've CONFESSED, you can't play victim when you've confessed! 

If that wasn't enough, shortly after that I discover my nice half a loaf of Italian bread is not a quarter loaf of Italian bread.   Really?

Truly head banging frustrating.

Which leads me to my first question, "Talar jag svenska?"