persephone33

My house is arranged in such a way that all of my sons' clothes, toys, furniture and bathroom is upstairs. And that's all that's upstairs. Their stuff.

Once every month and a half or so, I venture up there. I know, I know, I should go more often, but inevitably, every time I go up there, it's like the rooms are a swirling vortex of doom, sucking me in against my will. I get trapped cleaning, rearranging, dumping, shouting and scrubbing until the place is habitable by human beings again.

( The nitty gritty... )

Maybe when they go back to school, it'll be less like a pigsty.

Though there's no need to blaspheme the pig, come to think of it.

So I go to the door, since the neighbor kid is ringing it incessantly, and after I tell him that the boys are otherwise engaged, showering after being at the pool, and once is plenty to ring the bell, I see a situation on the front porch that I find bizarre. The cooler that we use fairly often, with a pillow on top of it.

( SERIOUSLY?! )

Like the girl I am, I shrieked.

And I put the pillow back.

And immediately went inside and called up to the boys.

Carrie. Why is there a FROG in my cooler?"

Ethan. Because I put him there.

Me. WHY did you put him there?

Ethan. (grins) He didn't have a cooler of his own. I was sharing.

Ha, bloody ha, blond kid. You're on my list. And you're letting that frog go free, I don't care if he has his own cooler or not.

He looks a little forlorn, if you ask me.

Rest assured, there will be a release of the frog, a scrubbing of the cooler with bleach and soap and anything else frog-repellent that I can think of, and a little chat reminding him that WE ALREADY HAVE TWO PETS in the form of 70 pound Labrador retrievers.

BOYS. HONESTLY! ICK.

Carrie Fisher wrote, "If my life weren't funny, it would just be true. And that would be unacceptable." I completely understand where she's coming from.

This story, folks. This story, I swear is true. And it all happened because I went against my morals.

I went to Wal-Mart.

( Those people are flat out NUTS. )

Lord, have mercy. Save me from the crazy people.

Eclipse has an MPAA rating of PG-13. I knew that going into this. But the boys have watched loads of PG-13 movies without incident. Off the top of my head - The Spider-Man Franchise, for one. And I am by no means a prude. But I was wholly unprepared for this. WHERE IS MY HANDBOOK?

Anywho, parenting is an adventure.

( Are you a virgin, Mommy? )

---

In less horrifying news, my dad is here, and we're have a cool, laid back time. Love to all and happy new year, if I don't see you before.

So. The saga of The Bed. As promised.

First, let me preface that I am a hardcore sleeper. I'm a champion. I could enter an Olympic event in Sleeping and sweep all three medals, because I am just THAT good at it. I, like my youngest son, can sleep anywhere, at any time, no matter what is happening around me.

But the older I get, I've realized that there's a direct correlation in Where I Sleep vs. How I Feel When I Get Up.

As in: *Nap on the couch = crick in neck

*Crappy ass hotel mattress = sore all over

*Drifting off in a chair at elementary school assembly = just embarrassed, yet refreshed

Anyway. The point is, the WHERE has somehow, in the last fifteen years, become very, very important.

And that's where our story begins.
( Got a cup of coffee? Sit down and read the fairy tale under the cut. )

† I am uninspired by the blue strawberry. *frowns* Everything I've started out writing is blerghy. I do like the quote, though. Also, did not get kicked out on the first round. *confetti throw*

† Mosquitoes are from the devil. I've been having a weird reaction to them this year. The bite area gets really red and swollen and hot, and then it hurts for a few days. Also - bug spray is gross.

† Made strawberry balsamic jam, two batches of blueberry peach, and plain peach jam over the past few days. I think I'm done being the pioneer woman, for awhile.

† It's impossible to keep my home clean and orderly with the boys home. They are a whirling tornado of sloppiness that have waaaaay more energy than I do. If I told them to clean up every mess they make, I'd just be cleaning constantly. And yelling all the time... so... School starts in a month. *nods*

† My house is too big. By the time I'm done really giving it a good go, cleaning wise, it's time to start over. No, Nolan, I don't want to move.

† Saw Despicable Me Friday with the kiddos. I laughed a little, I suppose. And little Agnes was cuuuuute ("It's so fluffy, I'm gonna DIE!"), but overall, I'd give it a meh.

† My mom's in Russia right now, and they didn't take their cell phones or laptop, so are unreachable for the next 10 days. It's not like I NEED my mother; I'm 37 years old for crying out loud, but knowing I can't talk to her is irritating. She and Tom are taking a cruise down a river in Russia, though. Sounds cool, right?

And now, for your reading pleasure, here's a story in which I humiliate both myself and a fourteen year-old boy simultaneously. *curtsies*

( Get a coke. This one is sort of long. )

You think life is going along just fine.
Then you download the 100th Bones Episode, watch it, and the cycle of despair is started. You think Temperance Brennan is a FOOL.

You go and teach your class on Thursday afternoon, just like you always do. You meet your family at 575 Pizza and your nine year-old won't eat.

He won't eat? you ask yourself. The kid would gnaw on anything for a snack.

You split from your family, while they go home, you go to see a play about a boy who blinds six horses and is in therapy because of it. You are disturbed by this play. It causes you to feel a lot more than you normally do.

( You shouldn't read this if you've a weak stomach, or stories of children and grossness bothers you in any way. )

You can't help but think this is all Temperance Brennan's fault. If she'd done what any NORMAL woman would have done, and thrown Agent Booth down right there in front of the J. Edgar Hoover building and had her wicked way with him, all of this could have been avoided.

;)

**********
Times I went to the Amarillo municipal courts building.................2
times stood before the judge for a speeding ticket and no insurance....1
miles over the speed limit I got clocked..............................13
approximate age of the officer that cited me..........................12
domestic abuse cases before me.........................................2
65 year old drug addict women with "hottie" t-shirts on................1
women the judge said were inappropriately dressed for court............3
times I went to the Potter county courts building......................1
new Vera Bradley purses bought.........................................1
toys I threw away upstairs.................................1,000,000,000
bacon cheeseburgers consumed........................................0.75
glasses of wine drunk................................................2.5
chocolate chips in my homemade ice cream...............................*
boys in Childress with their grandparents..............................2
husband asleep on the sofa.............................................1



*come on. I didn't count that. :D

Let me tell you a tale.

It's a tale of woe. Of tears shed and dinner made lovingly. It might make you laugh so hard you lose control of your bodily functions.

No wait. That was me.

( ...could cause so much ado? )

It's all in good fun. I'm laughing, he's laughing.... though if he starts in again, I'm not above making good on the threat. *nods*

You know, I always show you guys the good stuff. The pretty stuff. But I make mistakes, too. Sometimes I pay no attention to what I'm doing. Sometimes my creativity gets the best of me. Sometimes things turn purple. Sometimes I have to scrap stuff and start over.

Long Story short, Nolan won his Fantasy Baseball league last year. Gross winnings of maybe $400, less the total he spent on picking up players throughout the year, $210. Winner brings food to draft night. (Les the $$ I spent on groceries, We're down to a hundred bucks. Go, team. *waves tiny flag*) So Nolan gives me the doe eyes and asks me to cater dinner for his dorky friends. (And he teases me about writing in the HP fandom. As if pretend baseball is ANY less cool than Draco. Um, NO.) I, of course, am a sucker. I cater for him. Nolan loves pecan pie; he had 8 pies at our wedding reception rather than Groom's cake, so I knew that'd be a favorite with him. There will be 20 dorky friends that night, so I decide to do individual little pecan tartlets. So clever! No dessert plates! No messy cutting of the pies!

( It's pronounced Puh-cahn, y'all, not pee-can. I don't care what you say. )

FYI, those little monster tarts did get eaten. Nolan & the boys finally finished off the last one yesterday.:) They might have been ugly, but they still tasted good.