Blogger, mother, dreamer, swimmer, biker, runner, coffee-drinking mistress of silliness… all in exciting Kitsap County!
When camping, consider a new “path” for that leg hair. Braiding, perhaps? For oft-times the showers at camp are glorified caves with plumbing. A simple equation of words will demonstrate:
“Cave” = “Cold”
“Cold” = “Goose Bumps”
Alas…
“Shaving” + “Goose Bumps” = “Bloody stump of a leg”
Just say “NO!” to camp shaving.
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Welcome to my new series, Note to Self. In this series I will simply post the mental notes to myself I usually leave and lose in my mind. Without further ado, my very first…
When your 6 year old daughter asks to listen to music “with a girl singing” - don’t play Madonna. Songs titled “Into the Groove” and “Lucky Star” seem innocent enough - until you watch your daughter lip-syncing the lyrics, “…touch my body…”. That’s just wrong. Very. Wrong.
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I showed this letter to my husband and commented on the ill-use of “you’re” (2x) and “friend’s”. My husband’s reply: They’re selling cars, not diplomas!
I think this is a very nice letter, but I think their should be someone who spel chekcs and grammar chekcs there letters to custamers. I think if the company did that, they wood appear more perfessional.
Since I used to be a teacher - I HAD to used red “pen”… I couldn’t resist!
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***From the mind of the mother of 3 children. A post in which I propose and prove the following theory: “help” is - in fact- a form medieval torture for mothers.***
I don’t like “help”. Often times (read: every… time…), help is, actually Not. All. That. Helpful.
It’s not that I want or need to do all the work… make all the effort… I am a HUGE fan of minimal effort, but not a huge fan of “help”.
What I am trying to communicate is: If I have to do the work I want to control the pace, the rhythm, the progress. Progress people! Steady progress!
OR
I want someone else (read: adult) to do all the work. And not just the “start” but also the “finish”, because a “start” without a “finish” is not “ALL”… it is “helping”, and I think I have established I am not a huge fan of “help”.
Note: I write this with great guilt. My kids love to “help”, and this is a hard area in my relationship with my children. Especially when cooking. Especially. I need to let them “help”… because, for me, that is what a good mom does… teaches, nurtures… And I want to be that for them. Of course, not yelling would be a “good mom” thing also.
Baby steps.
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Well. Nosie and I had a little “falling out” this morning. Literally. Either I blew my nose too hard, or I slapped Nosie silly while I blew my nose too hard… In any case, my nose stud Totally. Came. Out.
I didn’t even feel it, until I didn’t feel “it” - my nose stud.
I found Miss Stud and tried with all my might to put her back. Not so much. I called The Blozulfog. She was all, “OK, stick it in as far as you can and put your thumb up your nose to feel it come through.” In my mind, I was all - how on earth do I get my thumb up my nose like that???!!!
Blood.
Goody! A list of Downey Downersons:
My Amish Friendship Bread is baking for another 35 minutes… The kids wanted to help make it. I forgot until after they were asleep (thank you Lord they fell asleep). It is day 10, and I had to make it. I am so bummed the kids didn’t get to “help”. This makes me feel like I have ripped childhood joy from their sticky, filthy palms. However, I am keeping one of the “starters” and we’ll try this again in 10 days…
I have a butt-load of emails and phone calls I have not been able to return in a timely manner.
With the layer of dust on my furniture, one might presume Mt. St. Helens blew her top again.
What happens to my hand towels in my guest bathroom? We. Have. Not. Had. Guests. Recently.
I just ate a bowl and a second bowl of Oreo ice cream with a couple of scoops of Jif - cuz that’s the smart thing for a girl to do when she’s packed on a few in the last couple of weeks and has to run in a half-marathon in, like, 10 days. Just keepin’ it real pzeeple.
I am not usually embarrassed at the condition of my home. But I was today. Someone came by who has never been here before. I gave a quick tour. There was not one corner that didn’t have crap piled in/on/upon/around/within it. Not. One. Now, I don’t need a clean house, but there are limits.
I stink. I worked out this afternoon and need to wash off the stank of fitness (all undone due to that double bowl of Stupid-n-Jif I ate a little while ago).
My desk. Oh my heck. You don’t want to know.
Yeah. Blog365. That too. It’s usually not a problem for me, but there are days. This is one of them. I have posted everyday this year, and do I blow it because of stink and dust and paperwork and emails and chaos? I know, it’s not a competition… except I am all about frivolous pressure and adding stress and intensity to my life… because, ya know - my life needs to be “spruced up”.
Watching the finale of Lost now - at 11:20 p.m. (recorded)… I’m feeling a little better now.
What to post… what to post… Well, there was this morning when I was kissing my husband goodbye for the day. We were kinda flirting and mid-flirt I noticed a little toothpaste residue on the corner of his mouth…
Then… I “Mommed” my husband. You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Without a hesitation, pause or moment of question I licked my finger and tried to wipe clean the corner of MY HUSBAND’S MOUTH! He jerked back and said, “Dude! Did you just “Mom” me???!!!” I was all, “Uh.. Dude! I totally just “Mommed” you!” While laughing and gagging he said, “I guess there’s your Make Me Laugh Monday.” He is so supportive.
Also, I have the following picture. Our Viking Fest and parade was this weekend. I had to walk with my girls with their little cheer group, so I gave strict instructions to my husband to get a picture of the Shriners. Those guys have no shame, and are my favorite parade participants. They wear more bling than, well, just look… Without further ado, my favorite Shriner:
Is that a belly-button ring? He is so cool.
Come again? How’s a kid supposed to answer that one? Even a 2-year-old sees the problem with that line of questioning.
Talk about setting up your kid for failure. Mom - 0; Kid - 0. The perfect example of a lose-lose situation. And yet another example of my stellar parenting skillz.
What’s the tiiiiiiiiiiiime?! It’s time to get CHILLed!
What’s the tiiiiiiiiiiiime?! It’s time to get CHILLed!
What’s the tiiiiiiiiiiime?! It’s time to get CHILLed!
What’s the ti-iiiiiiiiiiiime?! It’s time to get CHILLed!
Scratch that. That’s not how the song goes…. It’s time to get ILL. ILL! What does that even mean? Yeah. I guess we really don’t want to “get ill” in my fridge. I envisioned this post taking a whole other direction… Maybe I can still save it:
What’s the time?!What’s the time?!What’s the time?!
You tell me.
For those who accuse me of having a clean fridge - here - it’s milk crust. Yum. Maybe something did “get ill” in the fridge after all.
It is in times like these I wish I had magic powers of All Technology.
But I do not.
The Chief Technologist of My Life is drowning in work. Poor fella. BUT this is good, ‘cuz there are like, bills-n-such. Remember? Yesterday was tax day - so sorry to bring that up.
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