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Showing posts from June, 2015

FrootLoops

There's a FrootLoop in my wine. It made me laugh and, if I had not been worried that it would alter the taste of my wine, I would have stopped to take a picture of it with the hashtag #momproblems.

The last few days, I have been in a funk. My kids have not been bad (they haven't been good), but I just was not able to wrap my head around them. My patience: SHOT. My demeanor: Not Great. I would have received no leg lamps if the past 100 hours were the competition for MOTY awards.

Husband saw it. He came home, post call, and told me to go collect myself. He was so very tired. The kids were quiet. I told him to take a nap. He did.

I said, "It's not the kids. It's me. I can't get it together. I would have made myself cry if I were on the other end of my behavior."

Today though, I woke up. Grateful again for these children. Grateful for this life. Grateful for my husband. Very grateful for him.

I had blamed lack of exercising in the morning for my bad attitude.…

White bathing suits

Listen-- it does not matter how much you spend on a white bathing suit.
It does not matter how much money it costs, that you paid retail, or that it is from a high end clothier.

It does not matter how many compliments you get on your white bathing suit, that it is triple lined,  how comfortable it is, or how good it makes you feel about your post-baby-body.

When that white bathing suit gets wet- it is suddenly transparent, those compliments stop and you are no longer comfortable.

Especially in front of your brother and mother.

Fact.

Money well spent? Ithinknot.

The start of a really bad joke

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Tinkerbell, a cowgirl, and a sand crab walk into a warehouse club. Their mother was a touch frazzled, having had a husband spend the night at the hospital. The sand crab woke up at 4:46 for breakfast. The cowgirl followed suit at 6:02. And again at 6:18. And again at 6:22. Tinkerbell  found the outside of her eyelids somewhere in the 7:07 realm.

I balked on going to the gym.

Tinkerbell has a black eye. No, she did not do anything wrong. Rather, we made the discovery that "Hey, Mom! Watch this!" is along the same lines of "Here- hold my beer." Nothing good will come of either statement. Considering that last week she had a busted lip/fat lip, I feel compelled to say that her summer is off to a banger start.

The cowgirl has learned the valuable lesson that being cute can, and will, save your life. Just when I was ready to string her up for whatever reason, she rounded the corner from the back of the house with a pink cowgirl hat on her head. I taught her how to say Y…

Gettin' There

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I am going to take some more pictures and write a more detailed blog about this in the coming days, BUT-- I am so impressed the difference that can be had when something as ridiculous as doors are replaced.
Remember those 35 linear feet of glass we have in our kitchen/den? 
It was a lot of glass. 
It was a lot of non-tempered-dangerous-if-Bennie-is-your-middle-child glass.
The door hardly didn't work. I had to inch it open to my left leg through the hole and then push back with my weight as I gave it the old college try. It was tough. I was tougher.

This picture was taken when we bought the house. Do you notice the once-white carpet? And the linoleum? Those are gone. Replaced with a floor milled specifically for us in North Carolina.

But we aren't talking about the floor- we are talking about the 35 linear feet of glass. There is more glass in that space then my daughter's bedroom space in Washington DC.

And, just in case you were curious, while you might think glass is c…

You will never know

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Not too long ago, Husband and I were watching Fuzzy watch the world and he said, "Ya know, little buddy? You'll never know just how much your parents will be absolutely fascinated with your eyes and your ability to see."
He's right. Fuzzy will never know and the girls will never understand why we love to watch him watch life. 
Today, his eyes grew in fear as Bennie peeked her head over the side of his bassinet. We laughed at this facial gesture- but it also made my heart warm to see him see.
You'll never know, buddy. You'll never know- and that is perfectly okay with me.



So the Fire Department Came...

Fresh Market has a deal on hamburger meat. Every Tuesday, a patron can go into this fancy grocery store and buy skinless/boneless chicken and ground chuck at a price lower than Wal-Mart. Granted, if you go after about 11am, you are in line with a bunch of blue blood blue hairs, but if the meat is cheap and the quality is good- that is where I am. Sans the blue hair.

No word on the blue blood.

Tuesday, there I was- getting three pounds of hamburger meat. Our dinners of recent revolve around what I can make with either chicken or hamburger meat.

Husband said he was chickened out- hence the three pounds of hamburger meat.

We had hamburgers last night and I needed to do something with the rest of the meat.

I made a meatloaf. It's in the freezer- waiting to be eaten another day. Meatloaf, while it looks like brains, is not my strongest suit. My grandmother made a meatloaf and grated a potato instead of using bread crumbs (or was it eggs?). Her meatloaf was amazing. I never grew up eati…

The things we say

Occasionally, I look up and realize the words that come out of my mouth. Sometimes, I am invoking my mother- or even my grandmother. Sometimes, I have to think to myself... did I really just say that?

For instance.... (don't you love these blogs?)

- Bennie, do not lick the door. No, don't lick that one either.

- Bennie, don't lick your brother. That's not nice.

- Inside screams! PLEASE!

- Bennie, please don't lick that business card.

- No, just because it's 'just us girls' does not mean you can go skinny dipping.

- That's a great question- call your grandfather.

- Bennie, stop licking my shoulder. I am not a salt lick.

- No, Bennie- you cannot feed your brother. That's great, yes, I see that you're taking off your shirt and pointing to your ta-tas. No, yours don't work.

- Bennie, no licking the floor.

- Where did Fuzzy come from? Call your grandfather.

- If you're going to dance on the counter, please don't dance on the stove.

- …