If you don't count the Spongebobs, the Scooby-Doos, the Chowders (rada-rada), the TMNTs, the SuperWhys (I practice that dance in the shower), the How its Made show (counts as science right?) , the On-Demand Batman Previews (because hello, CHRISTIAN BALE), the occasional Sesame Street, or anything on Animal Planet, then we totally don't watch much TV at all in this house.
So you can imagine my utter shock and surprise when I stood on our front porch lamenting on how my plants need to be watered and my children quickly answered:
"Mom, you need the AquaGlobe!" *
*Statement is also interchangeable with "You need the Mighty Putty/Buxton Bag/Topsy Turvy/Green Bags/Weed Claw" Who are these tiny salesmen and where did they come from?
Yeah. Like I was saying. We totally don't watch TV aryound here.
But, you know, if you happen to come across my remote, GIVE IT BACK, because I, um, need it.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Easier Said Then Done
I've done a terrible job of blogging this week.
I've also totally failed the dishes.
And dust? Well lets just say we like having you around.
Oh and work? Oh yes. That's right! I 'm supposed to finish you first, then get paid, not rant about how there are no checks in the mail, while conveniently forgetting that um, no actual work has been done.
And wait - it's my job to do the grocery shopping ? Who forgot to tell me this one? Or more like who forgot to tell my kids, because I'm certainly not going to. If you want to answer their constant demand to put something! anything! in their bellies, then you just go right ahead. I hope you keep an arsenal of cheeseburgers in your back pocket.
Because, you know, I worked really hard on an airplane that was made out of PBJ the other day, only to have it launched off the couch in hopes that a coveted cheeseburger (from you-know-where) would soon replace it (it didn't). Oh, and they will also ask you for 'cheese I can cut myself' which is really just a nice way of them asking for permission to use a knife. So, If I were you, I'd be prepared.
But while I'm totally slacking in most areas, housekeeper, employee, human being...at least I can say I'm totally kicking butt on this summer thing:
I've also totally failed the dishes.
And dust? Well lets just say we like having you around.
Oh and work? Oh yes. That's right! I 'm supposed to finish you first, then get paid, not rant about how there are no checks in the mail, while conveniently forgetting that um, no actual work has been done.
And wait - it's my job to do the grocery shopping ? Who forgot to tell me this one? Or more like who forgot to tell my kids, because I'm certainly not going to. If you want to answer their constant demand to put something! anything! in their bellies, then you just go right ahead. I hope you keep an arsenal of cheeseburgers in your back pocket.
Because, you know, I worked really hard on an airplane that was made out of PBJ the other day, only to have it launched off the couch in hopes that a coveted cheeseburger (from you-know-where) would soon replace it (it didn't). Oh, and they will also ask you for 'cheese I can cut myself' which is really just a nice way of them asking for permission to use a knife. So, If I were you, I'd be prepared.
But while I'm totally slacking in most areas, housekeeper, employee, human being...at least I can say I'm totally kicking butt on this summer thing:
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Summer is Here and By the Way, Your Boob Thing is Messed Up
While Twittering this afternoon, I came across this little challenge on the Parent Bloggers Network all about sharing everyone's favorite summer pastime - shopping for a swimsuit. It's sponsored by BOCA, who are promoting their new balanced living group, which is all about, you guessed it, living a more balanced life!
So here goes....
There is no experience in the world quite like bathing suit shopping. While it is joyous for some,its quite painful for others.
(Maybe? It has to be joyous for someone, right? Somebody out there is trying on that neon palm tree string bikini and saying to themselves in the mirror 'Damn! This is exactly what I was looking for!' ).
With children in tow, however, shopping for swimsuits becomes a whole new ball game.
Like most moms, I rarely shop alone anymore, which also means I rarely happen upon a bathing suit that I-must-absolutely-try-on-right-this- very-second without a shopping cart full of defrosting frozen waffles, milk that's starting to warm, and two kids who are starting to get angry about having to wait just "another 10 minutes" to down that entire box of Scooby-Doo Go-Gurt. (I guess this also means I rarely shop anywhere other than stores that contain the word 'super' in them).
I could of course, always ignore that apparent suit of my dreams I've happened upon and just keep heading straight for the check-out line, saving my sanity and my money, but that would be just be silly. Nope, it certainly seems a heck of a lot more logical to park that soggy cart full of groceries right next to the to the cranky dressing room attendant and the pink and green panda themed underwear and drag two antsy kids into a 3 foot by 3 foot room and try on a bunch of stuff that's only guaranteed to put me in a worse mood. I've done it time and time again, and while I never learn my lesson, I also never fail.
Its like my kids are some sort of weird swimsuit good-luck charm or something. I've found my last three summer's worth of bathing-suit-all-stars with them in tow. I even found this year's winner while crammed into a dressing room with two coughing, sneezing, wipe-my-snot-on-the-chair 4 year olds AND talking on the phone the entire time. What can I say, the key to finding that perfect suit is distraction. If you have time to notice that maybe those tiger-striped boy shorts aren't exactly flattering your back side, well then you've just got too much time on your hands and not enough going on.
But if distraction is the key, then honesty must be the, uh, I don't know, the door you must unlock (its late, bear with me. and my metaphors)? Because the real reason I love shopping for suits with my kids is the commentary:
"Why does your tummy look like that?"
"Why do you have dark hair on your belly button?"
"Are my boobies going to get that big?" (keep in mind, i have two boys)
"Uh, mommy, that doesn't fit." (said while giggling uncontrollably after I tried on a top that was way too small with a bottom that was so big, it just fell off)
"Mommy, that looks pretty!" (after I tried on a halter suit that was so short waisted it severely altered my posture.)
and my all-time favorite, said after my son noticed the straps on the top were hopelessly twisted:
"Uh, mom, your boob thing is messed up"
Ah yes. Any mom will tell you there is nothing like having a child. And there is nothing like shopping for that perfect beach or pool-side attire with that child in tow. Especially when it's that child fault that you need more support then just some skimpy shoestring or have to purchase something that says slenderizing & tummy-minimizing on the tag.
*This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a sweepstakes sponsored by BOCA*
So here goes....
There is no experience in the world quite like bathing suit shopping. While it is joyous for some,its quite painful for others.
(Maybe? It has to be joyous for someone, right? Somebody out there is trying on that neon palm tree string bikini and saying to themselves in the mirror 'Damn! This is exactly what I was looking for!' ).
With children in tow, however, shopping for swimsuits becomes a whole new ball game.
Like most moms, I rarely shop alone anymore, which also means I rarely happen upon a bathing suit that I-must-absolutely-try-on-right-this- very-second without a shopping cart full of defrosting frozen waffles, milk that's starting to warm, and two kids who are starting to get angry about having to wait just "another 10 minutes" to down that entire box of Scooby-Doo Go-Gurt. (I guess this also means I rarely shop anywhere other than stores that contain the word 'super' in them).
I could of course, always ignore that apparent suit of my dreams I've happened upon and just keep heading straight for the check-out line, saving my sanity and my money, but that would be just be silly. Nope, it certainly seems a heck of a lot more logical to park that soggy cart full of groceries right next to the to the cranky dressing room attendant and the pink and green panda themed underwear and drag two antsy kids into a 3 foot by 3 foot room and try on a bunch of stuff that's only guaranteed to put me in a worse mood. I've done it time and time again, and while I never learn my lesson, I also never fail.
Its like my kids are some sort of weird swimsuit good-luck charm or something. I've found my last three summer's worth of bathing-suit-all-stars with them in tow. I even found this year's winner while crammed into a dressing room with two coughing, sneezing, wipe-my-snot-on-the-chair 4 year olds AND talking on the phone the entire time. What can I say, the key to finding that perfect suit is distraction. If you have time to notice that maybe those tiger-striped boy shorts aren't exactly flattering your back side, well then you've just got too much time on your hands and not enough going on.
But if distraction is the key, then honesty must be the, uh, I don't know, the door you must unlock (its late, bear with me. and my metaphors)? Because the real reason I love shopping for suits with my kids is the commentary:
"Why does your tummy look like that?"
"Why do you have dark hair on your belly button?"
"Are my boobies going to get that big?" (keep in mind, i have two boys)
"Uh, mommy, that doesn't fit." (said while giggling uncontrollably after I tried on a top that was way too small with a bottom that was so big, it just fell off)
"Mommy, that looks pretty!" (after I tried on a halter suit that was so short waisted it severely altered my posture.)
and my all-time favorite, said after my son noticed the straps on the top were hopelessly twisted:
"Uh, mom, your boob thing is messed up"
Ah yes. Any mom will tell you there is nothing like having a child. And there is nothing like shopping for that perfect beach or pool-side attire with that child in tow. Especially when it's that child fault that you need more support then just some skimpy shoestring or have to purchase something that says slenderizing & tummy-minimizing on the tag.
*This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a sweepstakes sponsored by BOCA*
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Because I Must Be Nuts, But Nuts are Good For You
As if I didn't already have enough to do, what with having to get out of bed in the morning and then pretend to act like a responsible adult all day, I decided to join in on the Music City Moms Fitness Challenge.
Yes, this means committing to exercise and trying make an honest attempt at eating well, all the while having others hold me accountable for it. Holy moly, I must have lost my mind.
I'll admit, I was mainly motivated to join because somebody else had to do the measuring, the weighing, and the BMI calculating. I'm terrible at math, and will avoid adding,subtracting, multiplying and dividing at any cost, even if that means driving 25 miles out of my way.
Officially, I'm weighing in in this corner at 145 (though I'm totally convinced at least 3 of those pounds were my shoes, because those Nike Shox are heavy, right? RIGHT?) with 28.8 % body fat and a 24.9 BMI.
And while I can't believe I just typed all that out (my numbers exposed!), I'll save you the pain of my before picture, because, ohmygosh, the pink in my sports bra totally didn't match the pink in my workout shorts (hello! embarrassing!).
There's no turning back, not only have I signed up, I've blogged about it. I'm in for it now.
Smores and Ben and Jerry's totally count as whole grains and dairy, don't they? And mowing the lawn a week ago, that totally counts as a workout, right?
Yes, this means committing to exercise and trying make an honest attempt at eating well, all the while having others hold me accountable for it. Holy moly, I must have lost my mind.
I'll admit, I was mainly motivated to join because somebody else had to do the measuring, the weighing, and the BMI calculating. I'm terrible at math, and will avoid adding,subtracting, multiplying and dividing at any cost, even if that means driving 25 miles out of my way.
Officially, I'm weighing in in this corner at 145 (though I'm totally convinced at least 3 of those pounds were my shoes, because those Nike Shox are heavy, right? RIGHT?) with 28.8 % body fat and a 24.9 BMI.
And while I can't believe I just typed all that out (my numbers exposed!), I'll save you the pain of my before picture, because, ohmygosh, the pink in my sports bra totally didn't match the pink in my workout shorts (hello! embarrassing!).
There's no turning back, not only have I signed up, I've blogged about it. I'm in for it now.
Smores and Ben and Jerry's totally count as whole grains and dairy, don't they? And mowing the lawn a week ago, that totally counts as a workout, right?
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Belated Regards
I spent some of the past Saturday night watching old interviews between Tom Brokaw and Tim Russert (thats right. go ahead, be jealous of me and my social calendar). It was nothing short of awe-inspiring listening to him speak of his father and his father's generation, and the respect and love he had for his dad.
And as I sat there on the couch, I just couldn't shake the guilt that all I wrote in my Dad's father's day card was something to the effect of "We hope you have a great day". I didn't even scribble an 'I love you' in there. But in my defense there certainly wasn't any room for it, I'd let my children cover the rest of the card with their dynamic artwork. Because nothing says I love you like concentric circles with legs and arms. And a pom-pom with googly eyes glued in for good measure.
How could I be so insensitive? Snubbing this man who took us to the symphony, to countless rock concerts and baseball games, and on wild road trips across the country? The only man I've ever know who could make cheese on a suit look better than a boutineer? The grandfather who my children adore - nothing brings me a greater joy than watching them countdown the Apollo 13 launch with you for the 5000th time, even though I may looked pissed that its midnight and my children are still awake. And of course, nobody can make eating and entire pot of spaghetti (and then spilling the boiling water on your foot) look good they way you do.
Oh, Dad. You are unique, there is no one out there quite like you (except for Aaron, maybe) I love you and wouldn't be me without you. As the boys would say, others should be 'genuis' of you.
What's even worse than this father's day fiasco is that I'm still working on my mom's mother's day present. A gift she had said was the only thing she wanted for mothers day. So while I'm at, Mom, I love you too. I really do. I may often sound annoyed or irritated but I am listening. And contrary to popular belief, I do follow your advice.
Let's see - who else have I neglected?
To my kids, I may have freaked when destroyed your room yesterday when you were uh, 'working', I still miss you each night when you go to bed and live for that moment each morning when you run down the stairs and jump on the couch with me.
To my in-laws, Yes! Its true, I really do love you guys, and regardless of what face I might be making, I don't think you're nuts (most of the time...).
To my husband, you know I love you, I'm still married to you aren't I?
To my sisters, you can overfeed my children full of crap anyday, I'll always think you are truly awesome.
To my friends, you like me! You really like me!
To my third grade teacher, thanks for letting us listen to the radio during art class...
To the gas station attendant from 2 weeks ago...............
And as I sat there on the couch, I just couldn't shake the guilt that all I wrote in my Dad's father's day card was something to the effect of "We hope you have a great day". I didn't even scribble an 'I love you' in there. But in my defense there certainly wasn't any room for it, I'd let my children cover the rest of the card with their dynamic artwork. Because nothing says I love you like concentric circles with legs and arms. And a pom-pom with googly eyes glued in for good measure.
How could I be so insensitive? Snubbing this man who took us to the symphony, to countless rock concerts and baseball games, and on wild road trips across the country? The only man I've ever know who could make cheese on a suit look better than a boutineer? The grandfather who my children adore - nothing brings me a greater joy than watching them countdown the Apollo 13 launch with you for the 5000th time, even though I may looked pissed that its midnight and my children are still awake. And of course, nobody can make eating and entire pot of spaghetti (and then spilling the boiling water on your foot) look good they way you do.
Oh, Dad. You are unique, there is no one out there quite like you (except for Aaron, maybe) I love you and wouldn't be me without you. As the boys would say, others should be 'genuis' of you.
What's even worse than this father's day fiasco is that I'm still working on my mom's mother's day present. A gift she had said was the only thing she wanted for mothers day. So while I'm at, Mom, I love you too. I really do. I may often sound annoyed or irritated but I am listening. And contrary to popular belief, I do follow your advice.
Let's see - who else have I neglected?
To my kids, I may have freaked when destroyed your room yesterday when you were uh, 'working', I still miss you each night when you go to bed and live for that moment each morning when you run down the stairs and jump on the couch with me.
To my in-laws, Yes! Its true, I really do love you guys, and regardless of what face I might be making, I don't think you're nuts (most of the time...).
To my husband, you know I love you, I'm still married to you aren't I?
To my sisters, you can overfeed my children full of crap anyday, I'll always think you are truly awesome.
To my friends, you like me! You really like me!
To my third grade teacher, thanks for letting us listen to the radio during art class...
To the gas station attendant from 2 weeks ago...............
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Just For the Record, Peanut Butter Totally Works
My husband came home on Monday with a few leftover grab-bags from last week's MusicFest, which much to my children's delight contained gum. Lots and lots of gum. Oodles of it, even.
This means that for the last four days I have been delightfully serenaded by their never-ending gum snapping. Annoying yes, but not yet totally irritating. I mean, sure, I'm more than ready to staple their mouths shut, but not quite so fed up that I'm to the point of burning down Wrigley Headquarters.
But oh my, have I came close.
On Wednesday, we attended a pool party at a friends house. I packed enough pool toys to survive us the afternoon and the boys, well they packed enough gum to survive themselves until at least middle school. I didn't notice this of course, until we pulled into the driveway for the party (just like I didn't notice that my friend, who was having the POOL party actually had a pool. Like a real, live, in the ground, for real pool, yes I am a genius.) I informed the boys that if they showed up with that much gum, surely they'd be the most popular, but all the other moms would most likely hate me, so we should probably leave it in the car. I also threw in the "Everybody else is going to eat all of it and you won't have any more left" line, which worked like a charm.
We weren't on the pool patio for but two minutes when I heard my children start to giggle uncontrollably. I turned around to see that Hayden, in the process of spitting out a large wad of gum (I'm estimating at least three pieces combined) had somehow managed to get it stuck on the top of his head. No, not the side, or even the back, right. on. top. I hated to break up their little party, but the more they jumped around laughing about it, the more his hair was being engulfed in gum. I needed to act fast or my worst nightmare was going to come true - you know, that I'd have to buzz-cut his hair to get it out. And we all know how attached I am to my children's hair.
Luckily, the hostess quickly supplied me with a huge jar of peanut butter. I'd never tried the peanut butter route before, but I was willing to try anything to avoid a unnecessary haircut. So for the next twenty minutes I worked glob after glob of peanut butter through Hayden's hair (which feels as disgusting as it sounds, by the way), while he screamed bloody murder, not the just the first few minutes, but rather the entire time, and then some. Only one thought kept me company those excruciating moments as I tried to concentrate: I'm going to kill my husband. I mean, sure I'd given my children the permission to chew the gum, but he was the one who brought into the house in the first place, and you gotta nip the problem in the bud, right?
In what seemed like 2 hours later, the gum was gone. The peanut butter had gotten all of the gum out, almost every last bit. I was relieved, and so were all my friends, I'm sure, now that they no longer had to stomach my son's deafening screams. So I speak from experience, the peanut butter totally works. Next time this happens to you (or your children) whether it was because of an unfortunate wind or perhaps lazy spitting skills, I urge to to reach for the Jif before you reach for the scissors.
I've certainly learned my lesson. No more gum in this house, for uh, 24 hours. Because, you know, I just might have bought them some Hubba-Bubba yesterday.
This means that for the last four days I have been delightfully serenaded by their never-ending gum snapping. Annoying yes, but not yet totally irritating. I mean, sure, I'm more than ready to staple their mouths shut, but not quite so fed up that I'm to the point of burning down Wrigley Headquarters.
But oh my, have I came close.
On Wednesday, we attended a pool party at a friends house. I packed enough pool toys to survive us the afternoon and the boys, well they packed enough gum to survive themselves until at least middle school. I didn't notice this of course, until we pulled into the driveway for the party (just like I didn't notice that my friend, who was having the POOL party actually had a pool. Like a real, live, in the ground, for real pool, yes I am a genius.) I informed the boys that if they showed up with that much gum, surely they'd be the most popular, but all the other moms would most likely hate me, so we should probably leave it in the car. I also threw in the "Everybody else is going to eat all of it and you won't have any more left" line, which worked like a charm.
We weren't on the pool patio for but two minutes when I heard my children start to giggle uncontrollably. I turned around to see that Hayden, in the process of spitting out a large wad of gum (I'm estimating at least three pieces combined) had somehow managed to get it stuck on the top of his head. No, not the side, or even the back, right. on. top. I hated to break up their little party, but the more they jumped around laughing about it, the more his hair was being engulfed in gum. I needed to act fast or my worst nightmare was going to come true - you know, that I'd have to buzz-cut his hair to get it out. And we all know how attached I am to my children's hair.
Luckily, the hostess quickly supplied me with a huge jar of peanut butter. I'd never tried the peanut butter route before, but I was willing to try anything to avoid a unnecessary haircut. So for the next twenty minutes I worked glob after glob of peanut butter through Hayden's hair (which feels as disgusting as it sounds, by the way), while he screamed bloody murder, not the just the first few minutes, but rather the entire time, and then some. Only one thought kept me company those excruciating moments as I tried to concentrate: I'm going to kill my husband. I mean, sure I'd given my children the permission to chew the gum, but he was the one who brought into the house in the first place, and you gotta nip the problem in the bud, right?
In what seemed like 2 hours later, the gum was gone. The peanut butter had gotten all of the gum out, almost every last bit. I was relieved, and so were all my friends, I'm sure, now that they no longer had to stomach my son's deafening screams. So I speak from experience, the peanut butter totally works. Next time this happens to you (or your children) whether it was because of an unfortunate wind or perhaps lazy spitting skills, I urge to to reach for the Jif before you reach for the scissors.
I've certainly learned my lesson. No more gum in this house, for uh, 24 hours. Because, you know, I just might have bought them some Hubba-Bubba yesterday.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Crafty Conundrum
We've been hitting up the library in these parts lately like it was brand new.
You can't really go wrong with the library can you? I mean, its free, its quiet (well at least until we walk in the door), and it's somebody else's job to put all the books away, so I'm off the hook.
It makes me feel all smart and educational, taking the boys there for a few hours to chill out, even though we usually leave with 4 movies and a whopping 2 books.
There's always something going on for the kiddos there, they have a group of librarians at this library that puts all others I've ever known to shame. Today, they were having craft-time, making door hangers complete with glitter letters, jewels and shiny stars, so you know we couldn't pass it up.
I'm a big fan of letting my kids do what they want when it comes to crafts. If its supposed to be a gingerbread house, and ends up looking more like a Willy Wonka threw up on a shack, that's ok, everybody's gotta learn to express themselves somehow.
Today was no different, I helped them spell out their names, but my instruction stopped there. That was until I started to pay attention to what Hayden was doing. He'd put his name down no problem and was busy embellishing the rest of the hanger with other sparkling letters.
I watched patiently as he laid down an F.
And underneath that an A.
And then thinking for a minute, he carefully chose the last letter.
A "G".
I tried to choke back a chuckle as I said "Um Hayden, we can't put those letters together."
"But why, not?"
"We just can't, it sort of spells something bad, something you don't want hanging on your door..."
"Okay..." he sighed. I felt kind of bad, and maybe I should have just left it alone, but you know, I just didn't want him, um, labeling himself too soon.
But just as I was starting to feel a little guilty, he'd already moved on, choosing F-A-A instead. Which frankly describes him a little better, I think. He is after all, minorly obsessed with all things aviation.
You can see for yourself how things eventually turned out. Pretty good, I'd like to think. I'm proud to show off these doorknobs...(yeah, and that didn't sound inappropriate at all, now did it? Hmm, I wonder where my son gets it from....)
Of course something similar has happened to you, right? RIGHT? Your empathy would be greatly appreciated....
You can't really go wrong with the library can you? I mean, its free, its quiet (well at least until we walk in the door), and it's somebody else's job to put all the books away, so I'm off the hook.
It makes me feel all smart and educational, taking the boys there for a few hours to chill out, even though we usually leave with 4 movies and a whopping 2 books.
There's always something going on for the kiddos there, they have a group of librarians at this library that puts all others I've ever known to shame. Today, they were having craft-time, making door hangers complete with glitter letters, jewels and shiny stars, so you know we couldn't pass it up.
I'm a big fan of letting my kids do what they want when it comes to crafts. If its supposed to be a gingerbread house, and ends up looking more like a Willy Wonka threw up on a shack, that's ok, everybody's gotta learn to express themselves somehow.
Today was no different, I helped them spell out their names, but my instruction stopped there. That was until I started to pay attention to what Hayden was doing. He'd put his name down no problem and was busy embellishing the rest of the hanger with other sparkling letters.
I watched patiently as he laid down an F.
And underneath that an A.
And then thinking for a minute, he carefully chose the last letter.
A "G".
I tried to choke back a chuckle as I said "Um Hayden, we can't put those letters together."
"But why, not?"
"We just can't, it sort of spells something bad, something you don't want hanging on your door..."
"Okay..." he sighed. I felt kind of bad, and maybe I should have just left it alone, but you know, I just didn't want him, um, labeling himself too soon.
But just as I was starting to feel a little guilty, he'd already moved on, choosing F-A-A instead. Which frankly describes him a little better, I think. He is after all, minorly obsessed with all things aviation.
You can see for yourself how things eventually turned out. Pretty good, I'd like to think. I'm proud to show off these doorknobs...(yeah, and that didn't sound inappropriate at all, now did it? Hmm, I wonder where my son gets it from....)
Of course something similar has happened to you, right? RIGHT? Your empathy would be greatly appreciated....
Friday, June 6, 2008
Liar, Liar
Here I am, whining about how summer snuck up on me, grumbling about how I didn't get invited to the party.
And what did I do today? Slept in (sort of, 8:30 totally counts as sleeping in these days). Went to the pool. Burnt myself to a crisp. Saw the latest summer movie. And then went right back to the pool (because there's nothing better for a sunburn than putting it right back out in the sun, right?).
Yeah, really sounds oblivious to the season, doesn't it?
I might as well be complaining about the snow while making a snowman.
And if you've got any aloe vera laying around, please send it my way. Get me a lemonade while you're up too....
And what did I do today? Slept in (sort of, 8:30 totally counts as sleeping in these days). Went to the pool. Burnt myself to a crisp. Saw the latest summer movie. And then went right back to the pool (because there's nothing better for a sunburn than putting it right back out in the sun, right?).
Yeah, really sounds oblivious to the season, doesn't it?
I might as well be complaining about the snow while making a snowman.
And if you've got any aloe vera laying around, please send it my way. Get me a lemonade while you're up too....
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
What? Its June Already?
Ah, it is here.
Summer.
I remember a time when I would wait all year long for June to roll around. But these days, it just sneaks up on me, knocking me on the concrete while running to be the first in line for the diving board. I don't think there's a better way to describe this past week.
When I wasn't looking...
the carnies came to town.
When I wasn't paying attention,
the sandstorm came.
When I wasn't thinking,
the kitchen sink betrayed me (But I fixed it myself. Take that you nasty noodles!)
While I was driving,
Superman took flight.
While I was turning on the garden hose,
the mud was slung.
And just when I thought I was going to lose it,
everybody passed out.
I feel like the party's already started and everybody forgot to invite me. Where's my sunscreen? My beach towel is unraveling. My flip flops are still in storage (ha, that's a total lie, I wear those 11 of out 12 months of the year). My beach bag still has last year's sand in it.
Sigh. Somebody clean out the pool. Its my turn to jump in.
edited to add: Is it sneaking up on you too?
Summer.
I remember a time when I would wait all year long for June to roll around. But these days, it just sneaks up on me, knocking me on the concrete while running to be the first in line for the diving board. I don't think there's a better way to describe this past week.
When I wasn't looking...
the carnies came to town.
When I wasn't paying attention,
the sandstorm came.
When I wasn't thinking,
the kitchen sink betrayed me (But I fixed it myself. Take that you nasty noodles!)
While I was driving,
Superman took flight.
While I was turning on the garden hose,
the mud was slung.
And just when I thought I was going to lose it,
everybody passed out.
I feel like the party's already started and everybody forgot to invite me. Where's my sunscreen? My beach towel is unraveling. My flip flops are still in storage (ha, that's a total lie, I wear those 11 of out 12 months of the year). My beach bag still has last year's sand in it.
Sigh. Somebody clean out the pool. Its my turn to jump in.
edited to add: Is it sneaking up on you too?
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