True Art

Today, Bonus' third grade class went on a field trip to the state art museum. Sheshe had warned me that this was the 'enlightening' excursion for the kids as they had a bunch of naked statues. Fully prepared for the discussion of his trip, I began quizzing him right off the bus.

"So, how was your field trip, Bonus?!"

"Meh. It kinda sucked. There were just a bunch of weird paintings," he explained, emotionless. Naturally, I pressed. Because I am 12.

"Yeah? What else did they have there? Were there any Picasso's? Monet's?"

"Ummmm. I dunno. There were a bunch of weird statues of naked people. So that sucked."

Feeling accomplished that we had moved past the 'experience' and he wasn't scarred, we moved on to homework and dinner. After dinner, he began singing a song that one of the kids in his class taught him. Apparently, "Little Johnny" has been listening to his parent's Beastie Boys music and has memorized the.entire.Paul.Revere.song. Fortunatly, my little sponges have soaked it up, verse by verse and even had the rests in the appropriate places. Honestly, I don't mind the Beastie Boys. We jam their music most of the time in the Tahoe. Well, as long as respectible adults aren't riding along... But the lyrics to this song and the inflection they were using over certain words had me a little worried.

When Bonus realized we knew the song and "Little Johnny" hadn't made it up after all, he began begging us to play it for him. Naturally, we said no, because we can't find the CD because we are good, upstanding parents who don't let their kids listen to that sort of foul language. Ahem.

Annoyed that we had chosen now to act like parents, Bonus went to bed pouting. When confronted on his attitude, he snarked back, "Listen, I spent the day staring at cavemen with GIGANTIC boulders for BALLS. You think THAT SONG is going to mess me up?!"

I had to leave the room.

A Brief Pause

Did I tell you I shot over 2,200 pictures while on vacation to Wyoming? Well, I did. This is exactly why I am spending hours on pinterest trying to figure out how to refinish a dresser for the boys room feverishly processing photos for your reading enjoyment...

Honestly, pinterest is truly the biggest time sink I have ever experienced. I didn't think it could be worse than facebook, but if you are someone who strives to be crafty, pinterest is your kryptonite. justsoyouknow.

Yesterday, while looking at pictures of puppies on pinterest while processing photos, I called my friend, Jae, for a SAVE ME FROM PINTEREST moment. "Jae. I need your help. I am stuck on pinterest trying to figure out how to refinish an old dresser for the boys room. I haven't eaten, showered or fed the dogs. I did, however, get the kids on the bus so I am calling that a win."

"I can't help you right now. I am busy taking a quiz on how much I know about Mexico. Good news, I ranked as a citizen."

THIS is why we stay at home, people. For your entertainment. And to keep the craft stores in business.

Photos coming soon!

But probably just the before and after of the dresser. Sigh.

So, here's a buffalo as a teaser:

Yellowstone Vacation Part One: Chevy Chase has nothing on the Davis Family

When Dorkfish and I got married onehundredyearsago in 2001, we loaded up our truck with all our camping gear and headed out West. For two weeks, we traveled from Knoxville, Tennessee to Oregon for a friend's wedding. We backpacked into to remote areas, camped beside beautiful lakes, bathed alongside fly fisherman in the middle of rivers and I even got my first bout of food poisoning at Dorkfish's favorite pizza joint. Out of those two weeks, I think we spent five nights sleeping in hotels. It was quite the adventure, to say the least.

So when he mentioned to me that he wanted to take the boys out West, I was completely supportive. Aslongastherewerebeds. He decided the only way to get our gear out to Wyoming was to drive it. Seeing as how this isnt my first rodeo with kids, I refused. Putting those two crackers in a car for three days would most certainly ruin the trip for everyone involved. Since Dorkfish hangs on my every word and is always in agreement with everything I say, he found the cheapest flights into Denver and agreed to the at-least-four-nights-in-a-hotel rule I had inacted.

Giddy with mountain air and not having anyone to talk to for 35 hours, Dorkfish picked us up in Denver on Saturday. I don't think he stopped talking for the next two hours. In fact, he was still recounting the flatness that is Kansas when we arrived at our first campsite for the trip. Apparently, the 'old haunts' as he remembered them had gained popularity. Driving around in circles, close to sunset, with two tired children and a hangry wife is NOT how one wants to start a vacation, justsoyouknow... Finally, losing all patience with the search, I grabbed my iSimple and Siri found us a lovely campsite in Laramie, Wyoming. The staff at the Hilton was completely understanding when we laid our picnic out in their lobby. I will have to say, the boys were completely disappointed that the color on the TV was so poor. Deuce even announced, "Camping sucks!" and we hadn't even been on vacation for 24 hours. (I may have laughed a little too loudly at that statement, judging by Dorkfish's newly-developed twitch.)

The next morning, we did the nostalgic drive around his alma mater where Deuce noticed that his dad's tattoo was EVERYWHERE! Bonus then decided that he would love to attend the University of Wyoming as long as he didn't have to get a tattoo. I wisely chose to leave that one alone... I think everyone who reads this blog understands that we reallocated their college funds for therapy years ago.

Our first night of vacation behind us, we piled in the car and headed West toward Yellowstone. The six-hour trek to our first real campsite seemed to take forever. The boys, restless to see a bear already, were throwing out the "Is this our camping spot?!?!" at every gas stop. The only wildlife we had seen so far were some antelope; none of which were playing, and I was getting just as antsy as the kids. Suddenly, we spotted a moose trotting through a creek! Dorkfish chased him with the Tahoe so I could get a truck-window picture, all tourist-style. That's how you roll out West...

Finally arriving at our camp ground, at 9,000 feet, Dorkfish set up the tent while the boys tore everything apart and I tested the bear spray. Wearesohelpful. The wind, which had been blowing nonstop all day, seemed to have picked up as soon as we set up camp in the woods. Listening to the trees creak and watching our tent blow over had me a little less worried about getting eaten by a bear, I will admit, but when the huge tree fell 20 yards from our tent, I grabbed my phone for the nearest Camp Hilton. Dorkfish, refusing to be deterred from his rustic adventure, carried the tent to a less wooded site and insisted wearecampingdammit. We spent the entire night listening for fallen trees and bears, but we managed to survive and the boys loved it. I will admit, the lack of coffee the next morning did have me a little on edge. Fortunately, Bonus stopped me from grabbing the bear spray when some hapless camper walked by with a steamy cup in his hand. He probably saved that guy's life...

Next up: Yellowstone and the Old Fathful pipe discovery!

Deuce's Mother's Day Gift Guide

Deuce and I are out front watering plants this morning when I informed him that tomorrow is Mother's Day.

Looking up at me with a concerned look he says, "Oh, really?! Dang, we need to get you something then."

Patting him on the head I say, "Yes, sweetie. You better get something good too," and keep watering the plants.



Obviously putting some hard thinking into this, he says, "But not a boob cup."







Puzzled, I look down and him, shut the hose off and say, "Dude. What in the world is a boob cup?!"

Straight-faced and dead serious, Deuce looks up at me and says, "When we were in Florida, Bonus and I found a coffee cup with boobs on it. He said it was a joke but I don't think you would like a boob cup."

Boob cups. The gift that keeps on giving, apparently.

But, no, they are not funny.

Role Play

Lately, Dorkfish has been working more than he has in the twelve years I have known him. While I will admit that it has been tough on everyone involved, as adults, we all realize when situations are beyond our control and we find ways to make this new situation a part of our lives. We adapt. Lately, I am finding that children are resilient as well and seem to find ways of creating their own normalcy in situations.

The boys have taken on a whole new role in my life. They cuddle me more than they ever did in the past. They insist on taking me out when I don't feel like cooking.

We walked to Waffle House for breakfast. Surprisingly, we survived the walk home as well...

 Lately, they have even taken on the role of entertainers...

A good coffee table MUST be able to be danced upon.

My tiny dancer here was blasting "I'm Sexy and I Know It" on the iSimple. (Which if you haven't seen the video, you must. I think I just peed a little.) After shooting this picture, I hopped up on the table and started dancing with him. About ten seconds into it, Deuce turns to me and says, "Mom, this isn't the 'I like big butts' song, so you can cut that out."

So apparently they are taking on the role of critics quite nicely...

Apparently, I don't need alcohol to drunk text.

I have always been one of those people who makes spur-of-the-moment decisions. (I am sure this has nothing to do with my ADD tendencies...) So last week, I walked into the hairdresser for a 'trim' and left with a bob cut. It took me twenty minutes to convince her that I really, really, really DID  want all my hair cut off. But once she did it, we both loved it.

Proud of my new cut and pink highlights, I sent this text to mycowherdingcousinRachael. Unbeknownst to me, I still had her old number in my phone...

No, that is NOT mycowherdingcousinRachael; but a complete stranger. A stranger with a good sense of humor. Oh, and don't ask about the squinty eye; apparently, I suck at self-portraits. But how funny is Fedora Dude?! Did anyone but me notice the picture in the back ground looks JUSTLIKEHIM?!

After a response like that one, I had to write him back:

I believe this just goes to show that I shouldn't be allowed to text anyone. Ever.

You Know They Are Sick When...

When you go to check your child's temperature and jokingly say, "Alright, buddy, bend over," and they lean over and respond, "Ooooookayyyyy. Do the best you can..."

Yes, I snorted.

But THAT is a sick kid...

Bad Drivers, Christian Sushi and Drunk College Girls or Florida Trip: Day One

We finally made it to Florida! Apparently, the pan handle of Florida is one of those youcan'tgettherefromhere kinda places when you live near Raleigh. Who knew?! I will save you from the what-is-wrong-with-everysingleother-driver-except-me stories. But I will tell you that every driver that tried to get me to giftwrap their car with the bowtie on the front of mine, was a BMW. Not that I have anything against them, but let's just say that the old joke holds true...
"What's the difference between a BMW and a porcupine?"

"On a BMW, the pricks are on the inside."

(Sorry, Sheshe.)

As with any road trip with young children, there were a lot of questions: 'How much longer?!', 'Are we in Florida YET?!', 'When we get there, can we go to the beach FIRSTTHING?!' Most of these were answered with my traditional response, "Three days." No, it doesn't answer thier questions, but it confuses them long enough that they forget they asked.

Apparently, this is spring break as well. Since we are on a year-round schedule and the boys are out for three weeks, I no longer pay attention to minor details such as this. I guess when the beach house owner told me there was an extra $700 damage deposit due for this week, I should have picked up on something amiss. But don't worry, we figured it out awfully quickly. As we were unloading the Tahoe, Deuce came running in the house with a shocked look on his face and said, "Momma, there is a baaaaad mommy out there!" I walked outside just in time to see her loading a case of Keystone Light into the back of her Jeep and head toward the pool. Her children, who may be old enough to drink, met her in the middle of the street and she yelled, "If y'all don't get your asses outta da road, Imma gonna run you over. I'm bringin' ya the beer up to the pool!" I patted Deuce on the head and said, "Hey she isn't making them walk all the way back here for their beer, at least."

The part of Destin where we are staying, is not only convenient to almost every shop, grocery store and restaurant you could think of, but it is also the busiest. I could honestly walk to the store quicker than I could drive. (But refuse to since you then end up buying more crap than you can carry home and find yourself contemplating asking a homeless guy for help in exchange for a beer.) So we drove. As soon as we pulled in, I saw this sign:

I turned to Beesh and said, "Hey! Look! We will have to try out that sushi place tomorrow!" To which he responded, "Um, that's a Christian bookstore..." *sigh*

Honestly, the best part of the drive was when we were driving beside the bay and could see Destin across the water. I pointed to the shore and said, "Look boys! We are finally near Destin!"

Deuce: "Are we in a foreign country?..."

Bonus: "Of course we are. We're in Pennslyvania."

I have no clue, so don't even ask. Let's just say that between statements like these and the young, drunk, college girls running around in bikinis, this trip is going to be very entertaining...

He Comes By It Naturally

So far, the only perk I have found to being forced to cleaning out my closets is that it's like getting a whole new wardrobe! Thanks to my new eating clean plan and working out routine, many of these garments no longer fit. A lot of the clothes that I still liked and thought I have a hopeinhell of fitting back into, I put into a bin to 'try on when I felt thin enough'... Probably not my best move.

This morning I woke up feeling pretty good. My stomach didn't have that what-are-you-naming-the-baby look to it, so I dove into the bin in hopes of finding some gems for my Florida trip. The first dress I tried on zipped up quite nicely, but just didn't look awesome. I went into the living room, where I have a full-length mirror, to give it a good looking over.

The boys, vegged out on the couch playing Wii, paused their game long enough to critique my newly-found treasure. Mind you, I did not ask for their input...

Bonus: "Mom! That dress makes you look so pretty!"

Me: "Clothes don't make someone pretty, sweetheart, but thank you for the compliment."

Deuce: "I'm not so sure about it. The back is kinda funny in a poochy-sorta way."

The kid was 100% correct. This was exactly what was wrong with the dress. So into the donate bin it went.

Six-thousand pairs of tight jeans later, I found a hot-pink swim suit. Feeling pretty confident about fitting into this bad boy, I slipped it on. It not only fit; it fit perfectly! No tugging at the butt, no readjustment of the top with every movement. It was just right. Just to make sure, I went back in front of the full-length mirror.

Not to be outdone by his brother again in the help-mom-critique-clothes game, Bonus pipes up, "Mom! That one would be perfect if you got rid of some of that junk out of your trunk!"

Me: GLARE

Bonus: "Um....I love you?"

*sigh*

Note to self: Only try on clothes when they are far, far away.

All This for a little Cough...

During Thanksgiving break, we always go to Knoxville to spend it with my family. This past year, the holiday seemed to bring more sickness with it than usual. Bonus, especially, was pretty deep in the throes of a nasty sinus infection. Once we returned to North Carolina, I took him in to the doctor as he just wasn't getting better. Upon examination, the nurse practitioner declared he had asthma gave him a breathing treatment. In total shock, since no one in our immediate family has asthma, I began asking 1,642 questions allatonce. The NP patted my shoulder, as she was pushing me out the door with an inhaler and a 'Welcome to Asthma' booklet, "Listen, we don't have time to go over all this today, but when I see him back in three days I will answer every question."

That? Is not good enough for me.

So, I called the local allergy and asthma specialist who agreed to see him the next morning. This man? Is my hero. For weeks, he would email me daily to inquire on Bonus's daily condition. After months of trips and tests, Bonus has been declared as NOT having asthma. He does, however, have a severe dust mite allergy and has been on Zyrtec and Nasonex daily since January. I have also hired the cleaning fairies to give his room a good scrubbing weekly to knock down the allergens.

I tell you all this to explain this picture:

You see, when we decided that ripping the carpets out and putting down hardwoods was best for Bonus, we decided to do it while we were out of town for a wedding. My job was simply to empty the four bedroom closets, which may or may not have still had boxes in them from our move three years ago... (Said boxes may or may not have contained clothing that only my tiny, gymnast friend Sheshe can wear and also a few maternity outfits.)

Being the skilled procrastinator that I am, I started on my closets Saturday. I will proudly admit that these three huge bags of clothes and big box of shoes is off to be donated! (I may or may not have kept the leather pants and the suede pants, you know, justincase I ever wear an 8 again...)

So today, when they dropped the wood, the Hispanic gentleman explained in broken English that they would return on Wednesday to rip up the carpets....

WEDNESDAY.

We aren't leaving until Friday.

And I have A LOT of BIG, HEAVY, CRAP-LADEN FURNITURE!

And no where to sleep.

And I have to pack.

And make another 3,000 of these:

I have 16 finished.

I may cry.

And I may be using this blog to procrastinate.

I will return...oneday. *sigh*

Gym Anomalies

I have some hilarious gym-based stories to tell you, but first I have to explain what the hell I am doing in a gym...

A few months ago, I decided to finally buck up on my 'getting healthy' plan. I had been lamenting for months to mycowherdingcousinRachael about my weight and how I just needed to find the motivation. She used to do figure competitions and had been giving me pointers on ways to shape up and get healthy, but I had found an excuse for each and every one. You see, I had gotten to the point where my tummy flab, muffin top and cottage-cheese thighs were just another thing to complain about. As we all tend to do with things we do not want to face, I was finding ways to blame it on others, "I gained too much weight with my pregnancies." and "A muffin top is a mom's forever treat!" or "Cellulite is God's way of saying we need more texture in our lives." I was using humor to hide the pain that was my weight gain. Now mind you, I am not severely overweight; I just wasn't happy and knew I was being lazy about it.

The epiphany moment came when Mycowherdingcousin and I were trying on clothes in her favorite store and I said, "Dude. You have GOT to help me lose this weight!" She paused and said, "I would, but I don't know how to motivate you." This struck a chord with me. Not only was I looking for a quick fix, I was being negative when she gave me suggestions. I vowed right there in that dressing room that I was no longer going to make excuses for my body. I was going to either put up or shut up.

That night, I changed my eating habits and found my motivation.

Dorkfish listened to my constant whining occasional suggestions and bought me a fitbit. I named him Sven. In addition to being cute, he holds me accountable for all my activity for the day. He tracks my distance in steps and miles, the number of stairs I've climbed and estimates my calories burned. He is a great little tool for pushing me on the days I don't feel like being pushed! Not to mention, he sends me little messages like "WALK ME AMO" or "VAMOS AMO" and even the occasional "LOVE YA AMO". He is a cutie.

But we all know that in order to lose weight and get healthy, you have to make sure your fuel is good for you too, so I started eating clean. I don't look at this a diet, but rather a 'lifestyle change'. I am not going to get into all the details of it, because honestly no one really cares, but I can tell you that I have seen a HUGE difference in how I feel, my complexion and even my sons' moods. So, there is definitely something to it, in my opinion.

So, to get to the funny part of the story...

I have finally found my way back into the gym. Apparently, paying atonofmoney for a year on a building I never enter, has finally gotten on my nerves. Let me tell you, once you start going on a regular basis, a few things happen:

1. You start to miss it when you don't go and feel bad about yourself.

2. You learn the peak and low times of the gym and when that annoying guy is there.

3. You get better at remembering things. (Like not forgetting your ipod after the time the same old dude insisted on talking to you through your entire workout.)

4. You figure out that if you forget your ipod, the old ear phones in your glove box will be a good deterrent as long as the cord doesn't fall out of your sports bra letting everyone know you don't really have it plugged in.

5. You learn to not get caught staring at people who grunt funny when the lift. The males think you are interested and the females think you are gay.

6. You realize that before and after the water aerobics class is the THEWORST time to go in the locker rooms. Those little old ladies have no shame in their game and aren't scared to let it all flop out, letmetellyou.

*shudder*

On Friday, I went a little later than I usually do and came across a new species at the gym. Weight-Dropping RoidRage guy. This guy is lifting what I can only describe as a bar with plates the size of the rental car they give you when you think 'mid-size' is the Buick your grandmother used to drive but realize it would actually fit in your hall closet and you have four people, a dog and sixteen suitcases to fit in it. IE: A smart car.

Every time RoidRage guy finishes a lift, he drops his weights. Fromkneeheight. Not only does it jar the concrete, but it clangs so loudly that I can hear it over the crappy music Dorkfish put on my ipod that I don't know how to change. (Seriously, Sade?! Who can get motivated listening to that?!) Each time he drops his weights with an audible "UGH", I turn to see who else is offended by this douchecanoe. I get a visual on an eye roll from the old lady on the stationary bike and a shrug from a guy who is twice the size of RoidRage. At my old gym, this sort of behavior was prohibited. If you dropped weights on purpose, you were asked to leave. Realizing that this obviously isn't the policy here, I rehearsed the conversation in my head with the intent of handling this. My speech was going to be, "Um, excuse me. If you have to drop the weights with each rep, MAYBE they are too heavy for you. If you need me to spot you, I will be right over here, NOTDROPPINGWEIGHTS." I removed my headphones twice with the intent of speaking to him when something crossed my mind. If this guy is on steroids, which anyone the size of him would about have to be, then there's a good change he could snap. Considering I am working my legs today, there is nowayinhell I would be able to outrun him... So survival skills kicked in and I vowed to get some Metallica for my ipod.

Suddenly, the hound dogs in shower caps wandering around the locker room after the water aerobics class don't seem so intimidating.

Sucktastic!

Let me begin by admitting a little something to you all. I, am no housekeeper. Honestly, I have never and will never claim to be the 'excellent stay-at-home mom'... My cleaning techniques are much like a college kid who scrubs the floors only when the parent's are coming to visit. (Except exchange 'parents' for 'husband' and you've got me pegged.)

I do cook, though. In fact, I have been cooking some quite tasty meals on my new Clean Eating plan! However, I do not go overboard with my culinary offerings. I guess you could describe it as 'survival cooking'... So far, everyone has successfully survived and we have only had one or two instances of 'whatthehellisthis' on our plates! I call that a win, people.

I tell you all this to explain the complete mystery obsession I have with a certain vacuum. You see, I have always wanted a Dyson. Nojoke. It has been that dangling carrot, that golden apple, the shiny key to unlock my inner housekeeper. I have always been convinced that my disconnect with house work isn't a lack of willingness or interest, but rather, insufficient tools. (This may play a part in my disorganization too, but I'm not going to go all Dr. Phil on you here...)

Fortunately for Dorkfish, I am frugal when it comes to certain purchases. I believe that anything you are paying to suck, shouldn't be over $200. (Leaveitalone.) We also have an appliance rule in our house in regards to gift giving, "If it plugs in, it isn't a gift." Therefore, the Dyson has always been out of reach.

*Collective Sigh*

Last week, my vacuum refused to suck. When you have four four-legged creatures running around your house and two children ages 8 and 5, this is a BIG!DEAL! I had been researching my vacuum options and trying to find the best deal, yet hadn't found one. Dorkfish came home last night, looked down at a dog-hair tumbleweed and declared that he didn't care HOW MUCH I spent on a vacuum, JUSTGETONE. So I grabbed my $50 in Kohl's cash and hit the store. I perused all the various makes and models before looking at the price tags. Naturally, the purple animal drew me in; and with a price tag of $195, I was sold! Evidently, this was a discontinued model, the DC 28, and therefore was on sale. Seeing they only had the floor model left, the store gave me another $50 off the price! (For those of you not good at math, like me, the $700 vacuum was $100 after my Kohl's cash!)

SOLD!

Isn't he beautiful? He doesn't have a ball, but judging by my male pets, balls don't last long in here anyway. *snicker*

After his first use, my friends began receiving text messages with pictures of my newly-vacuumed carpets and the message, "My carpets have more track marks than a $20 hooker!" (You're so thankful I don't have your number right now, aren't you?...)

My friend Botica responded with, "You know, everyone gets that one great deal that comes along every few years. This is yours. Congratulations."

Now I am wishing I had been jewelry shopping...

Kindergarten Drama: The Next Soap Opera

One of the great benefits of staying at home, is having the opportunity to be more connected in my boys' school life. Yes, I will admit that I did refer to my weekly Wednesday volunteering as "Community Service" and I may have suggested to the office ladies that they have a two-drink minimum... But, it did give me an opportunity to get to know the kids in the classroom so when Deuce or Bonus would come home complaining about  a kid, I would know EXACTLY how they felt.

This morning, Bonus woke up with throat pain and an earache. Since were were going on day threethousandsixtytwo of a cough, I went ahead and decided to spend the copay on him...

playedmelikeasucker.

Not only was it just drainage, but he had the kahunas to ask the doctor to let him stay home the rest of the week. OH, and maybe he just shouldn't go back to school any more since he has a dust allergy and his school isn't clean... Fortunately, she didn't fall for the 'ole blue eyes'.

Since he cried wolf, I not only took him to school and dropped him like the plague, I also brought Deuce a much-coveted fast food lunch from Christian Chicken. I will admit that it was a bit awkward when Bonus was walking out of the lunch room with his little lunch box and I was walking in with two bags of food... We spoke, but it was with a I'm-not-the-favorite-child-today kinda tension and all his friends noticed too.

As soon as Deuce and I sat down for lunch, the Kindergarten drama started...

Some random little girl: "Deuce! Tell your mom that Bonus slapped me in the face!" *sigh* Deuce informed me that the little girl likes to make things up to get attention, so I let that one slide.

He then informs me that his girlfriend, we will call her "DoeeyedSuzie", and his best friend, who we will call "KissingJohnny", kissed yesterday. To most kids, this would be crushing news; so I reacted with the same amount of surprise. Deuce, who refuses to leave his feeling at home and carries it on his shoulder at all times, was not only fine with this, but actually giggled about it.

(Thank God he isn't into kissing anyone but Momma still.)

Apparently, this was all okay because DoeeyedSuzie told him that she thought he was cute...

I'm going to leave that one alone.

We get back to his classroom and DoeeyedSuzie comes running up to me for a hug. "Bye Mommy!" she said in her sweet little tone. I knelt down, put my arm around her tiny little shoulders and in my most loving and syrupy-sweet voice said, "Listen honey, no kissing boys...ESPECIALLY MY BOY." She looked at me with her big, brown, doe eyes and said, "Oh, no! Never!" and ran off with cheeks that guilty shade of pink.

Having sorted that one out, I kissed my baby boy bye and headed out the door. About two seconds after I left, a little boy who we will call, "Edwardsitthehelldown" stuck his head out of the door and called to me. "Are you taking Deuce home?!"

Me: (Fighting back the smartass and not saying, "Do you SEE him with me?!" because I am a good mom.) "No, he's staying here today."

Edwardsitthehelldown: "Come on, take him away!"

Me: "Nope. He will be here to annoy you all day. Get back in the classroom and learn something."

Edwardsitthehelldown: "Why don't you go learn something?!"

Me: "Because, sweetheart, I finished learning all I need to. Now I get to go play at the park while you sit at a desk. Have fun!"

I like to think they repeatedly ask me to volunteer because I am so good with the kids.

The Oldest of the Four Leggers and the New Addition

When Dorkfish and I started our little furry family, or actually, when I started dragging pets home, he was very agreeable. He didn't complain about anything other than the amount of hair that can amass in an 800 square-foot house. (House cleaning wasn't my forte then either...)

Our first pet, Molly, came to me as a malnourished porch hound in the backwoods of Tennessee. As soon as I came across Molly, I knew I had to have her. She sauntered up the driveway in that traditional 'hound swagger' and captivated me with her big, brown eyes. I was in love immediately. I called Dorkfish and told him that we absolutely had to have this dog. The previous owner insisted that "Blackie" was a "gen-u-wine black-n-tan coon hound" and as such was "very, very, very valuable". That was the best $40 we ever spent. She has been with us through three moves, two kids and is on her seventh round of new four-legged additions. She hasn't bitten anyone, except the German Shepherd who bit Dorkfish first and a rat who unexpectedly was hiding in a vacant house.

Over the years, Molly has become more than a pet. She loves the boys like a mother. Some days, she has more patience for them than I do. Not to mention, when she tires of them a simple lick on the face will send them scurrying. I've tried that...it doesn't work for me.

As the family has gone from one dog, to two dogs and three cats, back to one dog and now to three dogs...she has weathered the storm.

However, this new addition, may prove to be the end of her....

Meet TomCat:

And yes, Bonus learned that look from me...

Never Turning on the TV Again

I know this will come as a huge shock to all of you, but I actually turned on the television Sunday night. For some odd reason, I actually wanted to watch the Grammy's.

My father-in-law was here visiting, so we sat and criticized the singers together. Actually, he did most of the criticizing...I just waited for boobs to fall out of dresses. Sadly, that didn't happen.

But, we did enjoy a lovely, enlightening moment together when some chick was on stage with blue hair and a tight, gold body suit. I'm sure most of you know who she is. I have no idea, but that suit was WAY.TOO.TIGHT. For some odd reason, I decided to make a comment that will forever be burned in that spot in my brain that holds all the awkward moments in life.

(The same spot where I hold the time I pulled my underwear out of my butt and told my dad that was the 'worst wedgie ever' before realizing my older, male, cousin was standing next to me. The name "Wedginald" will forever be used at holidays and all family gatherings.)

So, thanks to the Grammy's. My father-in-law has a new word for his vocabulary...

Me: "Wow. That outfit is WAY.TOO.TIGHT. I haven't seen a camel toe like that since I watched an Egyptian documentary!"

Him: "What's a camel toe?"

Me: *GULP* "Um....I don't really feel comfortable explaining that term to my father-in-law. Maybe you should just google it. Actually, you might have more luck in the Urban Dictionary."

Him: *blank stare*

Me: "Sigh. Okay, soooooo, ummmmm, it's like a wedgie but in the front. Um, for girls. Yeah, this is just awkward."


So, thank you Grammy's for enabling me to share that most horrible moment with my father-in-law. I'm sure he appreciated it as well.

An Amo Short...

So, this morning I was standing in the shower, pondering the great mysteries of life. You know, the pyramids, the disappearance of the Mayan civilization, how do cats purr...

Who am I kidding. I was actually worried that if I always follow the same wash pattern in the shower, will one side of my body always be cleaner? See, I always lather up my poof and scrub my left arm first. Then move to my right. So, do you think my left arm gets more soap? If that's the case, my right arm should be washed first since I am right handed.

See? Big.Things.

Anyway, so my mind was obviously proccupied when I finished my shower and realized I had washed the towels. *sigh*

No matter, Dorkfish's towel was there and mostly dry. Typically, I don't use ANYONE'S towel, even my husband's. Why? Because even though their body was clean, how can you ensure that the spot you are drying your face with wasn't the exactsamespot they dried their butt? *ick*

Just as I put the towel to my face, I realized it was damp.

But Dorkfish hasn't showered today?

In fact, he hasn't showered since he got home from his trip late last night.

So, who's towel is.....

OH!HELL!



My father-in-law is visiting.



Who knew bleach wipes could work as face cloths?!....

It's not you; it's me.

Hey, guys! Where have you been?!

kidding.

But seriously, I am so sorry for disappearing on you like that! I could give you tenthousandreasons why I haven't blogged since November, but I will simply say, it's not you; it's me.

Apparently, my last post ruffled some feathers in my little clicky hood and that wasn't the intent at all.

So, did you think that post was about your kid?

No?

Well good. It wasn't. It wasn't about your kid, the neighbor's kids, the kids down the street, the ones selling rocks in the driveway obligating the neighbor's walking their dogs to purchase for a quarter. Oh, wait...it WAS about those kids.

It was about MY kids. Just like all my posts have been and will continue to be. This blog is MY space to share MY family with YOU.

So, that being said, the funny will return tomorrow and will continue to be here on a semi-regular basis. I'm not committing to daily posts here or anything, but I promise to make you giggle on a weekly basis, at least.

But I will tell you that this morning, Deuce declared that if he marries Abigail, she will live in the basement with him. Apparently, this is because he loves his mother so very much he can't stand the thought of moving away.

I can feel the tough-love train rolling in in about thirteen years...