- Hubby changed the lightbulb in the boys’ bathroom. The Lightbulb Fairy usually takes care of these mundane tasks so that Hubby and our precious offspring never even notice a light is burned out, but I . . . I mean The Lightbulb Fairy . . . couldn’t reach this particular light. Given my general lack of balance/grace/coordination, I thought it best to ask Hubby to do it. The problem is that we got those "green" flourescent lights. I’m pretty sure my neighbors think we have a grow light in our children’s bathroom. I can assure you, we do NOT. If we did, I would be so chill, dude.
- Given my last post, How I've Been Spending/Wasting My Time, I’ve decided that I’m a Manic-Depressive Crafter. I get creative to the point where my glue gun really needs its own holster. (I could totally make my glue gun a holster!) Then I do nothing but watch TV for two months. I have been known to knit, scrapbook, arrange flowers, make wreaths, sew, bead, cross-stitch, and so on. And then I have vegged on my couch. How else do I explain the fact that I have seen all six seasons of Dawson’s Creek?
- I am an equal opportunity candy thief. I separated the boys’ loot into two cereal bins and carefully marked their names on each. The rest I threw in the trash because I could feel myself getting Type 2 Diabetes. I don’t want one son to think I love the other more, so if I take two from Large’s bin I feel compelled to take two from Medium’s bin. It’s because I love them so much, you see. On the flip side, when Medium asked at BINGO the other night, “how come they get to buy cupcakes and we don’t?” I replied with, “I guess their mother loves them more than I love you.”
- I have been blessed with good neighbors. During a recent bout of potty issues, (which you can ready ALL about here . . . um, you're welcome!) my neighbor stepped up to the plate and insisted that she watch my boys so I could go to the OB/GYN in peace. Well, at least as much peace as you can have with a curious toddler in tow:
- We had two teacher workdays last week, so the boys were out of school on Monday and Tuesday. In lieu of telling them to please, fortheloveofpete, chill the f*ck out, I made them harness their chi with a little yoga.
- And finally . . . the decorating challenges of the coach’s wife. Yes, folks, that is a big-@ss trophy that has taken up residence ON my mantle IN the family room where everyone can see it.
I hate trophies. They are hideous, obnoxious, plastic, unnaturally-colored, phallically-shaped, dust catchers. I can’t. stand. dust-catchers. This one has worn out its welcome. I can’t melt it down and make me some bracelets because, (please prepare for the shock of what I’m about to say,) it’s not real gold.
I ask you, what is the sense in giving a team one GINORMOUS trophy? What are we going to do, pass it around from family to family? We’d have to rent a U-Haul just to transport it to the next house. (And I’m not allowed to drive U-Hauls anymore ever since I hit that red pillar thing at the gas station and had to get two gracious Hispanic men in a white panel van to jimmy the lock since the keys were inside. They had lots of tools and lock-jimmying knowledge. I didn’t ask questions.)
I'll be right back. Mama needs a Snickers.