Sunday, March 28, 2010

Note To Self....

If one was to, hypothetically of course, allow her 3 year old to wear a football t-shirt under a sweater to church because all of his real church clothes are sitting in the pile of dirty laundry that has been collecting for 2 or 3 weeks, one should probably make sure he can't take of said sweater during the first 30 seconds of Primary.

One should also make sure the 3 year old is not called on to stand in front of the entire primary to hold a picture during sharing time, especially on the off chance that on that particular day the picture will need to be held for ALL of sharing time (about 10 minutes), not just the normal 15 seconds.

Because that would be SO humiliating to the poor mother to have her child paraded in his homeless t-shirt church ensemble for all to see. I'd fully expect an annonymous bag of clothing to be dropped on her porch later in the week by some charitable soul who witnessed the scene and thought "that poor child, can't his parents afford a shirt and tie? I'm going to make some calls- I think Sister so-and-so has a boy about his size.....". What kind of masochist mother would let that happen??

Me I guess.

Friday, March 26, 2010

My Son, The Exhibitionist...

Man Child took his shirt off in the truck on our way to the mall.

Now he's taken it off again.

At least we're at home

Maybe someone declared this house naked land and I didn't get the memo.

Visitors, you have been warned. Enter at your own risk.

I'm A Bad, Bad Girl Who Needs To Be Punished (Commence Butt Slap)

Don't you love Hairspray. That's my favorite line in the entire movie.

And I feel a strange camaraderie with Miss Turnblad as I have apparently been a very bad girl. So much so, that this morning I about gave The Husband a heart attack when I sent him an IM saying "I've been naughty".

Like all men, his mind went somewhere totally different than what I intended with that statement. I guess they can't help themselves.

What I was referring to was the fact that I woke up at exactly 9:54 am this morning to the sound of my sons playing Mario Brothers on the wii in the basement. There are so many wrong things in that sentence- did you pick them all out? 9:54- on a Friday. Sons (plural) play downstairs. Meaning the 9 year old is not at school. Basement- meaning they knew they were hiding the illicit school truancy from sleeping beauty mom. "I" woke up- meaning when I turned off the alarm at 7:45 I didn't hit snooze or reset it; instead, I assumed I could super humanly wake up from a deep slumber exactly 15 minutes later.

Yep, I stink.

In my own defense, I was up very late last night worrying about a myriad of things. I was fully committed to NOT waking up on time about 3 seconds after I got the call that my 7:30 am piano student was not coming. But I only intended "sleeping in" to mean 7:45, not almost 10! Holy frick woman, could you be any lazier! People ask me all the time how I handle ding am piano lessons every week day. It was hard at first, but then I realized that it was forcing me to wake up at a reasonable hour and if I had no reason to get up I'd sleep all day.

Okay, I realize that getting my kids up and off to school SHOULD be a good enough reason for getting up but I'd just justify it that they are learning to be independent and self-motivated. See how I can swing things my way so easily??? It's an art. I should teach lessons.

So that's why I am naughty today. Well, every day probably but especially and blatantly today. I did get Fox off to school so he can take his spelling test and pass 3rd grade. He was pretty excited to go so I think being at home is not as fun as it sounds when you're stuck in your desk doing fraction worksheets.

Tomorrow I'll be better, I promise.

I might actually proof read and edit before I post.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Have You Seen My Hair Lately????

Last night for Young Womens we gave the girls manicures.

Correction. The wonderful and gifted Miss Melinda gave the girls manicures and I clumsily followed along. Only Suzy, our sweet down syndrome friend, was subjected to my attempts.

She's a girl after my own heart. Bright pink, sparkly nails fit her to a T.

While I have never been what you'd call "high maintenance", my grooming disability of late has reached almost epic proportions. My hair was in a pony tail for so many days straight it almost didn't need a band to keep it in place. In fact, I think it grew 3 more inches with out my noticing at all.

Something clicked last week and I asked TQ to return all my hair apparati back to my bathroom. She begrudingly brought it back- her attitude no doubt influenced by a firm belief that I would never use said hair utensils, thus hoarding the expensive flat iron she had come to call her own.

Silly girl. Doesn't she know yet that everything that's her is hers, and everything that's mine is her's too? I thought all teenagers understood that rule. It's why she can borrow any pair of shoes of article of my clothing without asking, but I cannot look cross eyed at anything belonging to her.

No comments about how I can't fit in her size 3 pants or extra small shirts are necessary, thank you very much. I choose to believe she's just selfish. It hurts less than knowing I couldn't pull her pants above my calf.

But that's okay, because my hair grows at super human speeds. I do nothing with it. It doesn't get pampered with expensive products or regular trims. And yet, it grows like it's on anabolic steroids. If Brittney Spears had my hair she wouldn't have to buy so many ugly wigs to cover the painful grow out from "The Buzz".

But then again, she's probably a size 3 and can wear my 12 year old's pants.

You win.