Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Or not!!

I got a phone call late yesterday afternoon.

After my conversation with Roz, and after I had set my last bitch fest blog post to publish.

It was Roz. Good ole Roz. She had an opening with Dr. A first thing this morning!!

Alright, Universe...I'm listening!

So, I get to the office, sit down, and Dr. A starts...

"I'm assuming you want to know where you are, why you're here, and what you need to do now. Well, I pulled your file, and you didn't get in because your application was incomplete."

I jump in, "Incomplete?! No way. That's not possible. I hand delivered my application, transcripts, and shot records because I didn't trust the USPS. I didn't want anything falling through the cracks. The only transcript that I didnt' hand deliver was the one from here. The one that I requested be sent from records up here to the third floor. What was I missing?"

Dr. A says, "Yeah. That's the transcript that didn't make it. The one from this college."

Desperately trying to lower my heartrate and blood pressure with some serious yoga breathing, I muster, "YOU'VE.GOT.TO.BE.KIDDING.ME!!"

"No. I'm sorry. I just hate that stuff like this happens. Just look. Look at your file. Your test scores are excellent. Your GPA is outstanding. You have taken all of your support courses, and pre-requisites. You look great. The good news is that you're in a decent position on the waiting list. If you'll get us a transcript, you just might still get in for January. Worst case, you're a shoe-in for the Fall 2010 program."

*sigh*

While this news makes me want to go to the records office and rip the heads off of those ladies with their denim shirts, and their rolling chairs, and their fucking computers is a little frustrating, I'm relieved.

I'm relieved that the reason I didn't get into nursing school is not because I am not smart enough, or not good enough...it's because the jackasses in records are incompetent morons!!

THAT thought comforts me!!

Maybe the universe was just trying to tell me to quit crying like a little bitch, and hold my horses!!

Career change...

I'm a firm believer in the following phrases...

"Things happen for a reason."

Sometimes "things" suck...and sometimes the "reason" is bullshit, but, i still believe in it.

"It wasn't the right time."

Sometimes the "right" time seems like the wrong time, to me...because I'm not a patient person...and this phrase is almost always referring to a lesson in patience.

"It just wasn't meant to be."

I don't believe in destiny...but, I think this phrase is referring to the universe's way of keeping my ass outta trouble!!

I called the school to get an appointment to talk to the director about the selections process, and my application. I wanted to know what my odds are of getting into the program this next time around.

The conversation went like this...

*By the way, this lady's voice sounds EXACTLY like the secretary lady, Roz, on Monster's Inc. You know, the one who says, "Dooon't fu-get the paperwork." So, let's call her, Roz...just for fun!

Roz: Collin College.

Me: Yes, I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. A to discuss my application.

Roz: She's booked. She doesn't have any more appointments.

Me: Uh...she doesn't have any appointments...uh...like, EVER??

Roz: No.

Me: Oh...Okay? Thanks...

*Damn...there really is a nursing shortage. This one lady is booked for the next millenia, or at the very least, the foreseeable future!*

This coupled with the fact that when the little one sliced the tip of his toe off the other day, I almost passed out.

Jack was on the counter, crying, bleeding, and screaming.

I was on the couch, sweating, moaning, and damn-near fainting.

Jake was left to play nurse!

I think the universe is trying to tell me something.

Something like...

Sometimes, there isn't a right time, and things like toes being sliced off, happen for a reason, to show you that meetings with directors of nursing, and possibly a career in such, is just not meant to be!!

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

It's true. Everything's bigger in Texas...

OH.DEAR.GAWD!!

What is that thing?

Is it a bee?

A hummingbird?

A vulture?

Is it a goddamn pterodactyl?

No, silly!

Put on your turtleneck to protect your jugular...it's one of those bloody Texas-sized mosquitoes!!!

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Monday, September 28, 2009

I Faces



The theme this week is "Blue" at I Faces. This is my fave "blue" pic...hence it's place in my sidebar! Head on over to see some great photos or to enter yourself.

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Saturday, September 26, 2009

Six word Saturday...



"Next President of the 4th Grade!"

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Friday, September 25, 2009

Friday Flashback...

It's Friday.

I'm making it easy on myself and I'm gonna regurgitate a reeeeeeally old post, freshen it up, and pass it off as new.

This is my first blog post, ever, actually.

Another story.

About my boys.

Without further adieu...I give you, "There's a splinter in your WHAT?!!"

So, here's one you probably haven't heard...

The kids were showering the other day. It kind of resembled a drive thru car wash. We were rotating them in, sudsing them up, rinsing them off, buffing them dry, then moving on to the next.

I was drying Jack, and he was complaining about his penis. His complaints reminded me of Avery at about Jack's age when Avery put soap...well...he put soap inside his penis.

You guys probably know about this and can remember back when you were about 5 and made this once in a lifetime mistake. But, for the ladies who haven't been around little boys, it's kind of a rite of passage on being a boy.

I guess, thinking they must be clean from the inside out, or, out of untamed curiousity, little boys will, at some point in their lives, put soap in their penis.

ANYWAY!

Back to Jack...

He was really whining and complaining, and I kept thinking the thing should have stopped burning by now. So, I decided to investigate.

He's laying down screaming in pain, buck naked on the bathroom floor. Avery is in the background, yelling, "I told you not to put soap in it," and Lily...well, she and I are just both wondering how the hell we're going to survive another 12-15 years with these boys.

After a close inspection, I find a little something on his penis. I'm looking at his thing, with this thing inside it. Come to find out, the kid has a splinter on his penis.

At this point you may be asking yourself the same question I was asking myself....HOW IN THE HELL, do you get a SPLINTER in your PENIS!!!

So, I said, "Jack, how in the HECK do you get a splinter IN YOUR PENIS?!?"

His answer..."My sword!"

It's our fault, really. We potty-trained him by letting him run naked for six months of his life. He grew fond of the feeling of his wee willy bouncing in the breeze, and goes commando quite often. I even get notes from his teacher all the time asking me to make sure Jack has underwear on before school.

Anyway....

You see, going commando is no issue if your weapon is a steel pistol. But, when your weapon is a wooden sword, and that weapon is shoved into your pants while on your way to battle...you just MIIIIIIGHT get a splinter in your penis.

I held Jack down while Jake removed the splinter and we just may have traumatized the child for life!!!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Kids these days...

Last night, I took the boys to Wal-Mart to spend some birthday money.

On the way home, we got to chit-chatting.

Avery made a comment that I "owed him" something, or other.

I jokingly said, "I don't owe you anything. I built you. I gestated you for nine months...I think you owe me!"

Thus, opening the door, to a portion of THE talk.

Ave: Yeah, but, didn't dad help make me, too.

Me: Technically, yes. But, I did all the dirty work. I had to carry you around and grow you from two tiny little cells into a big, fat baby.

Ave: Really?!

Me: Yup. It starts with a tiny sperm cell from a man, and a tiny egg from a woman. Together, they grow and grow and grow, to make a baby.

*At this point in the conversation, I realize...I'm in deep. Really.Really.Deep.*

Ave: So, can they just take those two cells, put them together, and grow a baby outside of a woman?

Me: No, but they can put the cells together outside of a woman, make sure they start growing, then put them inside a woman. It's called In Vitro Fertilization.

Ave: Is that what you did?

Me: No. That's for people who can't get pregnant on their own. They can't do it the old fashioned way.

*I brace myself, here it comes...*

Ave: What's the old fashioned way?

*I decide to spell, since little brother is in the back seat, and I do not need him telling his teacher how the baby got into her tummy!*

Me: S.E.X.

*The boy loses it, and starts laughing maniacally, and nervously.*

Ave: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH...OH.EM.GEE! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? OH MY GAWD. THAT'S DISGUSTING!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. OH MY GAWD. That's how I got outta there?!

Me: No. Actually, that's how you got in there.

Ave: OH.MY.GAWD!! OK.OK.OK. No more.

Me: Dude...do you even know what S.E.X is?

Ave: No. Not really. But, I'll just Google it!

Me: NO! DO NOT Google it!

Ave: Why?

*Not really wanting to explain S.E.X and P.O.R.N to my ten year old child, I lie*

Me: Well. Uh. Because. Because. Uh. You can't search that on Google. They don't have that kinda stuff on there. Any questions you have, please ask us. We'll tell you the truth. JUST.DON'T.GOOGLE.IT!!

*Note to self: Disconnect internet service!*

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Happy Birthday...AGAIN!

We're celebrating another birthday in the Bullock household, today.

For This One...

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He's 6.

And we're sooooooo surprised he's still alive proud of him!

In honor of my boy, on his birthday, I'll share a little conversation I had with him the other day while we were looking through old pictures.

We stumbled across a picture of me nursing Lily when she was a newborn.

*That's so National Geographic, huh?*

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jack perk up a bit. He says with a start, "No.No.No. Wait. Go back to that picture. Yeah, that one. Is Lily sucking on your boob?!"

*Nice, right? He calls it a boob...just like a grown ass man.*

I respond, "Yes. She is breastfeeding. That's how moms feed their babies. The milk from their breasts."

With surprise and uncertainty in his voice, he says, "So, the babies just suck on their moms boobs?"

I answer, "Yes, son. That's how they get the breast milk."

Still not satisfied, Jack says, "Let me see. Can you make some milk now?"

"Uh, no kid. I can't put on a show. Moms only make milk right after the baby comes out of their tummy."

Next question, "Well, Mom. Did I used to suck on your boobs when I was a baby?"

I am starting to get a little uncomfortable hearing my 5 year old talk about sucking boobs. Hoping this will be the end of the inquisition, I say, "Yes, son, you did. You all did."

Jack pauses for a minute, still chewing on this new nugget of knowledge he has been given. With a sly grin he concludes, "That is so cool!!"

Happy Birthday...ya little perv!!

Monday, September 21, 2009

Well hello, stranger...

I've noticed some new followers lately, and I got to thinking...

Just who in the hell ARE all these people?!

As the caterpillar in Wonderland would say, "Whooooo R U?" You know, but, without the opium...however, it'd be a lot cooler with!!

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PHOTO FROM HERE

Just a friendly hello...and wanting to find out a little about ya!

So...question...What is a totally annoying habit you have? How would your spouse/roommate/boyfriend/girlfriend/life partner/mom & dad...just someone who has to put up with your ass...how would they answer the same question?

Friday, September 18, 2009

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho...

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I got myself one of those...how you say...yobs? Jobs? Yes. Jobs! I got one of those!

As if called by the cosmos, a former colleague of mine, now the director of a new gym, called today asking me if I'd like to teach a yoga class for her.

I told her that I needed to sleep on it...that I needed to decide in which direction I wanted to be moving, thanked her for thinking of me, and told her I would call first thing in the morning with my answer.

Five minutes later, I called her back, and took the job.

What the hell, right?

So, I'm a working girl, again.

Get your mind outta the gutter...not that kind of working girl. Although, if this nursing thing doesn't pan out...I might consider that kind of working girl.

I'm officially a yoga instructor again. I've missed it terribly since I've been on hiatus and educating myself. It'll be good to be back on the mat.

Om, and shit!

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Here's your sign...

If, after being told he can only have a new puppy when our current dog dies, your child says, "So, if Tucker dies tonight, we can get a new puppy?" Then, proceeds to lean over and slyly whisper in his brother's ear...

you miiiiiiight be raising a serial killer!

And the dog may need a bodyguard.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

When it rains...

It's been raining a lot here, lately.

Both literally and figuratively.

Yesterday, I received the letter I've been waiting for.

THE letter.

It was bad news.

I don't know why they send you this big, long rejection letter...I stopped reading at, "We regret to inform you...."

They could've saved their ink.

So, what now?

The earliest I could possibly start school, if I'm accepted during the next application period, is Fall of 2010. FALL OF 20-FUCKING-10!

That's a year from now.

Another fucking year!!

I have a lot of emotion tied into this endeavor of mine. I guess because the nursing seed was planted while I was caring for Joey. That's probably not a good thing.

I don't know.

I do know that when it rains, it pours....

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Broke down...

Jack broke his sister.

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He was riding a bike with no brakes...yes...a bike with no brakes, and without brakes, he was unable to stop when his sister crossed his path.

They crashed.

Jack had not a scratch. But, he broke his sister.

Her best finger, the right pointer, is broken. All the way through, but, the bone was not displaced.

Good times...

Huh...just reread my title.

Speaking of "broke down," my car broke down the other day.

In the rain.

On the highway.

Just me and Avery.

He was all, "Mom, you're going to slow, get outta the road," utterly humiliated.

And I was all, "I'm trying son, but I.DON'T.HAVE.THE.POW-AH."

Once we stopped, the brat was unwilling to run across the service road, to the safety of a car dealership to wait for Jake. He said it was embarrassing.

WTF?!

The alternator went out. I know this not because I know shit about cars...but, because my neighbor does, and has an alternator-checker-thingy.

This is looking like the start to a greeeeeeeat week!

I Faces



The theme this week is "Contemplative" at I Faces.
Head on over to see some great photos or to enter yourself.

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Monday, September 14, 2009

Shhhhh....

Now that I have tasted the quiet, it seems that I have developed a thirst for it.

What do they say...whoever the fuck "they" are..."you can't miss what you have never had." It's only recently that I've acquired the quiet, and I now long for it when it's away.

One evening last week, I left the kids with Jake, and I went to the library.

The place where the quiet was born.

The temple for the taciturn.

It's my favorite place in the world.

The best part about it, is that there are no conversations to be had in this sacred place. People just left me alone. Alone to my own thoughts and the sounds of...my self. I could hear the sound of my heart beat, of my thoughts bouncing around inside my head, my breath, my flip flops.

I felt invisible as I floated through the aisles of non-fiction.

Non-fiction is my favorite place within my favorite place.

I love that there are books on any subject you could conjure. There's even a book about boobs. Nothing else. Just boobs. Cleverly titled, "Boobs." Don't believe me?

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Told ya.

And, just to let you know. Yes, I was the freak who was taking pictures of the books at the library. No, no one said anything. Yes, they still looked at me like I was the freak who was taking pictures of the books at the library!

When I'm there, I feel peaceful.

I feel still.

I imagine that the way I feel in the library, is the way some people feel in church.

My cathedral of calm.

My synagogue of silence.

Complete, with books about boobs.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

And so it begins...

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Queso in the crock pot?

Check

Volume on the television turned up to a ridiculous level?

Check

Ass firmly planted on the couch?

Check

How 'bout them Cowboys...

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Six word Saturday...


"Raindrops keep fallin' on my head..."

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Friday, September 11, 2009

A Ten-Ager...

The boy had a birthday.

A decade, gone by...

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The easy part is behind us.

It's probably about time that I start praying.

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Because, we're gonnna need all the help we can get with this one!

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Dear Nikki...

Yesterday, I received a solicitation for advice. Why someone would seek my advice, befuddles the hell outta me, but, this is a tough social situation that moms can find themselves in quite often.

Here goes...

Dear Nikki,

I have this friend who occasionally will watch my children for me. Truth be told, I watch hers far more than she watches mine and when she DOES watch mine, she generally just makes my oldest watch hers, and mine. So she really doesn’t do a whole lot. Which is irritating but not the problem I want to address. The problem is this:

The last time she watched my kids my oldest wasn’t there. One of my kids pooped his pants (totally out of the ordinary for him!) and apparently she FREAKED out. My older one said that she was ripping his clothes off of him and screaming at him that it was UNACCEPTABLE. She barely wiped him and put him in the shower and was STILL yelling at him about how he was being a baby and only babies pooped themselves. My boy was crying and my older one was trying to console him and said “It’s ok, it was just an accident.” And my friend yelled, “It’s NOT ok it’s completely UNACCEPTABLE. Don’t tell him it’s OK.”

When I got there to pick them up I asked why he was wearing different clothes. She said he pooped and they had a stern talking but they were friends again. No sooner did we get into the car when my boy was telling me how my friend yelled at him and screamed at him and he started crying again. My older one said that she was totally screaming and yelling and related the story, above, as I just retold it to you.

I haven’t exactly known how to deal with this situation. I’ve disciplined her kids when they were here because they are little monsters that literally climb over my gates and up my walls and pilfer food from cupboards. But I don’t yell at them and berate them. I put them in time out and tell them that it’s not ok for that behavior to happen. Because of all of this, I haven’t really spoken to her since the incident nearly a month ago. The more I think about it the more upset I get.

Am I over reacting? Under reacting? Should I say something to her or just never leave my kids over there again? We’ve been friends for 12 years so I’d hate to just toss it out the window, but it’s NOT ok for her to treat my children that way, even if she was having a bad day and my kid pooped himself.

Any advice?
Mama Bear


My advice...

Dear Mama Bear,

I know a guy who'll do a good job. I've used him in the past. He's a professional. He'll keep it clean, he can't be traced. He can break her legs, rearrange her face, or...more. You just say the word, and it's as good as done.

So...will ya help me, help her out?

What would YOU do??

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

You don't know me, but, would you STFU?!

Jake and I sat down to lunch.

The kids were in school, it was just he and I.

**Can you tell by the way I'm typing, that I'm smiling, every time I type that i get to do stuff, while the kids are in school?**

We were alone. No coloring pages, no kids meals, no, "Table please," so that Jack doesn't stare over the shoulder of the people sharing a booth behind us, uncomfortably close to them, grossing them out.

**We learned our lesson on this one, when he loudly proclaimed that the guy behind us, "Isn't fat, he just ate waaaaaaaay too much food." He's our feral child.**

None of that...just me, Jake, and food.

Although I have a newfound affinity for all things quiet, at restaurants, I expect to hear the typical bustle of the lunch-rush crowd, and the undiscernable mumblings of many conversations being had around the room. However, what I do not expect is the annoying, shrill voice of Talky McTalkerson, as she dominated the conversation across the table of the booth behind me. In my ear.

**If Jack was with us, we would've requested a table. Far from Talky. Hell, if Jack was with us, in the booth, he would've leaned over, uncomfortably close to the woman's friend, and said, "Lady, will you tell her to STFU?!"**

This woman was awful!

She was one of those people who ramble around in conversations, bouncing from one topic to the next, no one else can squeeze a thought in anywhere...OH.MY.GAWD. I wanted to shove my fork into her eyeball. And I know...KNOW...the lady with her did, too.

This woman went 'round in circles...so very loudly, 'round in circles...

"My neice is just such a brat, I mean, I love her...but, she is just really hard to handle...and my brother and sister in law, well, you know I haven't spoken to my brother in two years...it's awful...it's so hard not even being on speaking terms with him...I mean, he's my brother...it upsets my mom...I know it does...especially, because, the last time I saw him was at Uncle Ed's funeral...and he didn't even speak to me...but, Kelly talked to me, but, she was really short with me...and then when I saw Kelly after the funeral, she was okay...we had dinner...and talked...but, that girl just has waaaaaaay too much drama...ya know...BWAHAHAHAHAAHAHA...but, back to my neice...."

**OH.DEAR.GOD...I forgot about the neice. How could I forget about the neice. Seriously thinking about shoving the fork into my own eyeballs. To stop the insanity.**

Her lunch partner was dying inside. I know she was. She had to be. I wanted to hug that woman. I wanted to reach my hand around the back of the booth, and grab her hand, knowingly caress it...hopefully reassuring her that there are people who know how to have real conversations in this world. That it wasn't too late to escape this god-awful friendship. Alas, she'd probably think I was hitting on her, and be all creeped out.

McTalkerson continued, without pause, without a breath...without regard for my last nerve...

"But...my neice is just so rude, and disrespectful...I wasn't like that when I was a kid...and when I have them, I won't let my own kids talk to me that way..."

**AHHHH!! Hope. A ray of light. The 'Mouth' has not yet reproduced!!**

"As sooooooon as she gets to my house, she starts pouting...'When can I go home?'...'I'm ready to leave.'...She's so rude...I want to talk to my brother about it...but, I can't, 'cuz I have to see my neice through my mother...."

Jake can see my frustration, and is walking me through the lamaze that I learned while pregnant with my first born. He coaches me, "Breathe. It's okay. They just have a few more bites, and they'll leave. You're doing so good."

Inside, I'm not doing good. At all. This is what I hear in my head...

**STFU!! STFU!! STFU!! STFU!! SHUT.THAFUCK.UP!!!

Put that effing cheesesteak in your effing mouth, close it, and CHEW, for all that is holy!! Seriously. Do it. Do it now, before I shove that cheesesteak up your ass!!

I can solve all your problems right now, lady. All of 'em. You listening? Your brother? He wants you to STFU! Kelly? She wants you to STFU! I would bet, that Uncle Ed, off'ed himself because you wouldn't STFU!! Even your precious little neice...only 8 years old. The little dear. All she wants is for YOU...to STFU!!!!**


Man, I should have more patience for people.

But, I don't...

Monday, September 7, 2009

I wonder what they will remember...

Just now, as I lay in bed reading, I heard Jake flipping through channels on the t.v. He paused on the Labor Day Telethon.

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I had forgotten all about it.

When I was a kid, I watched the Telethon religiously. I don't know why, because now, I can barely sit through thirty minutes of it.

As a kid, I would spend the night at my cousins' house, one is ten years older than me, the other six years older, and both are more like sisters. We would stay up all night. Watching musical performances...listening in on live callers from all over America, as they handed over their hard earned money for a good cause...laughing at the comedy acts...witnessing touching stories of sick children, some beating the odds, some, sadly, not...listening to Jerry Lewis' atrocious singing...and eagerly anticipating the dramatic updates on the donations counter.

I don't know why, but, it was fun.

We drank sodas...ate Easy Cheese on saltine crackers...popcorn...Doritos...Oreos and milk...and dipped graham crackers in Eagle Brand Milk.

I love this memory.

It was insignificant really. Hardly as memorable as prom night, or graduation, falling in love, or having a baby...but, this memory makes me warm.

I can't help but wonder what kind of mundane memories will remain in my children's heads long after their childhoods have passed.

This serves as a reminder that the birthdays and the Christmases are not the only days that they will recall, when they think on special days and memories from their childhood.

They will just as likely remember fondly the silly "favorite foods" game that we play at every family dinner. Or, the way the dog pounces on them, licking their faces, and stepping on their heads each morning, as he helps me wake them for school. Maybe they will remember that the only thing that will make Dad quit clanking his spoon on his coffee cup in the morning is to yell, "HI-YAAH," as loudly as they can. A silly thing Jake's grandfather used to do, that Jake remembers, and has chosed to carry on.

I wonder what they will remember...

Sunday, September 6, 2009

You should see the other guy...

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The kid started his day with a bicycle accident. He was riding his sister's bike, and I'm sure, for a boy, there is nothing more humiliating than flying face first into the pavement off of a seafoam green bike, with twinkly stars, and the word, "Starlet," written across it!!

He abandoned the bike, and dragged himself home, sweaty, wet with tears, and bleeding. Profusely. From the nose!! As we cleaned up the scrapes on his chin, lip, and cheek, and iced his puffy lip and nose, his sister watched quietly. When his wails had waned, Lily, literally adding insult to injury, said, "That's what you get for riding my bike."

After a snack and a little Scooby Doo, he was off again, only this time, on his own bike.

As the sun was setting, I honked the horn on the suburban...my signal for the kids to come home. As Jack approached me, I noticed his eye and face more swollen than the last time I'd seen it.

It was reported that Avery was dared to throw a stick at a wasps' nest, he did, and ran. Jack did not, and was stung just under his eye. I asked him what he did when the wasp stung him, and Jack said, "I screamed, Mom. It hurt. I wanted to say the F word sooooooo bad. Don't worry though, Mom, I didn't."

We don't call him "Bruiser," for nothing!

Friday, September 4, 2009

Vloggity, Vlog, Vlog...

I did a little impromptu vlog this morning, because I was...oh, inspired, I guess... Head over to Bubbles' place, Fort Thompson, if you wanna play along, and check out the other vloggers...


Without further adieu, I give you, "STFU!!"

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MckLinky Blog Hop

The big O...

Ha! Got ya again, ya perverts! I'm talking about Obama, not the other, more pleasant, more satisfying and enjoyable "Big O."

I've seen a few debates going on, on Obama's upcoming speech to school children. Some parents are up on their hind legs, not wanting the POTUS speaking directly to their children. Some are launching a "National Keep Your Kid Outta School Day!"

Which, is HILARIOUS, to me, because, there is NOTHING that the big O could say to my kids, that would make me keep them home from school. I will lay my life on the line to protect my 7.5 glorious, golden hours of silence.

He can tell them that Santa isn't real...he can tell them where babies come from...and that, in fact, that's likely what Mom and Dad are doing when the bedroom door is locked, for all I care.

THEY'RE GOING TO SCHOOL, DAMMIT!

I have never been interested in politics. I wish I was, but, it bores me to bits. Each, and every election, I say, "This is the one I will follow, this is the one I will become involved in, this is the one where I will sit through an ENTIRE speech...whether it be before, during, or after the election."

Sadly, each election, I fail. I think Obama's acceptance of the nomination, has been the only one I've made it through. And...that was only because it was significantly historic...aaaaaand because I had teensy weensy shred of a morbid curiosity as to whether some back woods, rebel flag waving, racist would try to off him.

It really is something I'm ashamed of.

And...by that I mean, I'm ashamed that I'm not more interested...not, that I'm ashamed I sat through Obama's speech!!!

My point, and I think I have one...

I am 32 and, more often than not, those speeches go in one ear and out the other. Simply because I cannot force myself to be interested in politics. Despite my efforts.

If I, the grown ass woman that I am, feel this way, I'm not too concerned about my 10, 8, and 6 year olds becoming engrossed in the big guys' speech.

Sorry, Mr. President, but, they don't listen to a damned thing!! I'm sure your speech will be riveting, but, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say, that all they're gonna hear is, Wah-Wa-Waah..Wa-Waaaah...Wah-Wah-Wah.... But, hey, good luck with that!

And if it does interest them, and they hang on every word...then, I will be proud. I wish I had started learning about politics when I was younger. I would be more involved in it today, if I had. We live in a country run by politics, and agendas...it's just the way it is.

I think it's an opportunity for those so opposed to Obama to teach their kids, that even people who don't think the way they do, or have the same beliefs, and ideals...still deserve their respect. Whether that person happens to be the POTUS, or not!

IMO, this country is not in dire need of health care reform, or educational reform, or stiffer stances on gay marriage and abortion...Ms. Franklin hit the nail on the head, what this country needs most, is a little R.E.S.P.E.C.T!!

Oh...did you think I meant Ben's wife?

So, what is your take on the matter?

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Old School...

Do you remember Kangaroos?

Those rad sneakers with a zipper pocket on the side?

I had a pair when I was a kid. Now, the girl has a pair, too.

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But, just what do you keep in a pocket that size?? A dime? A bobby pin? What the hell is it for??