July 10, 2009

Friday Foto

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On the road again, like a band of gypsies we go down the highway...

We are on the road again, heading to Ohio to visit family. It seems as if my main activity this summer has been packing. Not a bad problem to have, right? I'm not sure if I will be able to post anything in the next week or so, but if I don't, I'll be back the following week. Until then...

Happy Travels, and of course...

Happy Friday. 


July 07, 2009

Gettin' Snippy

Every kid gives her mother reason to worry. If that reason happens to correct itself, usually another reason to worry pops up. At least that is the way it is with me and my kids. 

Last week I had good reason to worry about Poonch. I was brushing her hair when I noticed that she had mysteriously grown a sideburn. Now, Poonch has had long hair with her bangs grown out for years. To her, her hair is her crowning glory, while to me, her locks provide most of my morning frustration. Her not-yet-curly-sort-of-wavy-sometimes-straight-full-frizzy-chlorine-filled hair is a pain in the ass to do. It has been the cause of many frustrating mornings, and trust me, I am putting this lightly. (screaming, crying, brush-throwing, running-from-mommy, threats-from-me-to-chop-it-off, no-I-don't-want-a-ponytail, boys-are-so-much-easier)

The appearance of the spontaneous sideburn meant only one thing. This girl had cut her OWN hair. Son of a ...

Seeing as Poonch was already crabby about me brushing the knots out of her hair, I wasn't sure how to broach the subject. So, I just came out and said...

Poonch, did you cut your hair? (At least, I hope that is how I asked it, because inside it went more like WTF did you do to your hair, girl??)

No answer. Which in our house implies culpability. Every time. 

OK, Poonch, I know you cut your hair, but what I want to know is why? 
(WTF were you THINKING???)

No answer. 

To make a long one-sided conversation short, she finally admitted that she was angry and had chopped off her hair. She refused to tell me what she was so angry about. Something I had done, surely. 

This confession resulted in all sorts of internal conversations in my head. 

OMG, Poonch is completely out of control

she needs an anger management class

should I send her to a shrink?

WHAT in God's name will she be like as a teenager?

These conversations were still gaining momentum in my head days later as I was cleaning out the playroom closet, which on a good day, looks like this:

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You can only imagine what it looks like on a bad day. No comments, please. Anyhow, as my head was in the bowels of this eyesore, I came upon this:

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At first I thought this specimen was the missing link, but quickly realized it was Poonch's missing hair, stuck to a hardened piece of Juicy Fruit. Perhaps another mom would be disturbed to find this in a playroom closet. Not me. Nope. I did a few jumping jacks of joy because lucky me, my girl doesn't have anger management issues, she just can't keep her darn gum in her mouth! 
 
All that worrying for nothing. 



 

July 03, 2009

Friday Foto

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Happy Fourth.

Happy Friday. 

July 02, 2009

Unmentionables

The girls and I went to the movies the other day, an activity that we all love. The girls love it for whatever silly movie that is playing and the Chewy SweetTarts they talk me into, and I love it for 2 hours of no talking/whining. It's a win-win. 


Anyhow, we had just settled in (meaning, got that little booster seat for Chuckles, opened the water bottles, ripped open the SweetTarts without spilling them, took off sweatshirts, fixed the booster seat again, checked the napkin stash, asked for the 3rd time if anyone had to go potty) when the previews started. This preview happened to be for that new Disney movie G-Force starring guinea pigs (because movies about chipmunks just aren't enough). As the highlights were flashing across the screen, one of the guinea pigs yelled out something about tightie-whities. Chuckles started laughing hysterically. 

Chucks, what's so funny? I asked. 

He said tightie-whities!

Now, there are no boys in our house besides Hubs, and I cannot tell you what kind of underwear he wears, because sometimes during a lull at work he reads my blog and he would kill me if I discussed his unmentionables, but I am pretty sure Chuckles has never seen tightie-whities, or if she has, shouldn't know the urban vernacular for them. (Mark that down for the longest blog sentence you will read today.)

Um, do you know what tightie-whities are, Chuckles?

Yeah, Mom. It's a DIAPER!!!!!

At this she started chuckling again. Hard. Loud. 

She's right. Because when you think about it, tightie-whities DO look like a diaper. A big, glorified diaper. 

July 01, 2009

Wait, I'm How Old?

The other day I couldn't remember how old I am. Seriously. I knew it was either 36 or 37, but I wasn't sure which. Neither one sounded right. But then I did the math. 


2009-1972 = 

thirty-SEVEN. 

Shit. 

I'm not sure why I couldn't remember my age. Maybe it's early onset Alzheimer's. Maybe it's too much aspartame. (I've been trying to kick Diet Coke for years, but if I did, how would I drink JD?) 

Or maybe it's because I just don't feel 37. I don't even feel 36. I feel 28. Maybe 29. People who are 37 are supposed to be comfortable in their adulthood. I am not. People who are 37 are supposed to be fairly knowledgeable in their career. I am not. People who are 37 are supposed to know what their career is. I do not. 

I'm not kidding. I really don't feel 37.  Mentally, that is. Physically, I see the changes. A few more gray hairs. Some spider veins (which I didn't notice in the winter, darn swim-suit season). Wrinkles. Stubborn muffin-top. These annoyances, and a calendar, remind me of my age. My brain is slow to catch on, however. 

And you know what? I'm OK with that. I just rue the day when my brain finally catches up. Man, what a post that will be. 


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