Home At Last!!!!!!

I think this trip for the last week and a couple of days has been one of the most draining things I have ever done. After the husbands graduation on Friday from Career Counselor school we jetted, 13 hours to Alabama, to visit both our immediate families. Whew...we were only there 2 nights and then we headed home arriving at 1 am this morning. I am sick and tired of the car and I do not think I have ever been so happy to come home to my own house and sleep in my own bed. Although today there is laundry to do and bills to pay. I have to get back in the groove of things. My oldest son is going to be home from school soon and I have not seen him since the Thursday before last. He has been with his biological father for Spring Break. It is so hard to share him now that we live closer to his dad. When we were stationed in Connecticut he only saw him every couple of months and now it is an every weekend thing.
Oh yeah and for all my readers I got to see my brother since he had his accident. My poor 15 year old brother stuck in a wheelchair with a broken leg and broken arm. They just did cast his arm, 10 days after the surgery, they had to wait for the stitches and staples to come out. As for his foot he is still in a boot thing and he is in it for another 6 weeks then they have to go in and remove a screw. All in all he has 2 plates in the arm, 6 screws each, 1 in the leg and 3 additional screws....for a whopping total of 21 screws, wonder if they are flat head or phillips....HA HA.
Well today is tax day and I leave you with this cute poem thing that was emailed to me by my friend in Al.

Tax his cow, tax his goat;

Tax his pants, tax his coat.

Tax his crop, tax his work;

Tax his ties, tax his shirt.

Tax his chew, tax his smoke;

Teach him taxing is no joke.

Tax his tractor, tax his mule;

Tell him, "Taxing is the rule."

Tax his oil, tax his gas;

Tax his notes, tax his cash.

Tax him good and let him know

That after taxes, he has no dough.

If he hollers, tax him more;

Tax him 'til he's good and sore.

Tax his coffin, tax his grave,

Tax the sod 'neath which he's laid.

Put these words upon his tomb:"Taxes drove him to his doom."

After he's gone, we won't relax;

We'll still collect inheritance tax.