Holey Socks!

Pink and purple socks.  This is how the story begins.

I had to start buying socks with pink and purple words on them. Why? Because there is a sock swiper in my midst and he happens to occupy the drawer right next to mine.  I'm letting this secret out there.

My husband wears my socks. He has bigfoot feet and I have little short person feet.  Truly, I s'pose a size 9 foot on a 5'3" lady isn't so small, but compared to bigfoot I'm quite dainty.  In order for his longman toes to stretch he has to put holes in my socks rendering them unwearable for my uberfeminine feet.

Ugh! So when doing laundry I tossed all of his socks into a basket so he could sort out the ones to take on his trip and I made sure to place mine completely separate so they wouldn't get confused with his.  Ahem--personally I think the pink and purple would give it away, but apparently sock swipers aren't into the details. I wake up the next morning, get ready for the gym and can't find my socks.

Oh no, he didn't! Swiper no, no swiping!
He did.  But you knew that already.

I guess that's my line.  Everyone has a line you don't cross, I didn't realize mine would come down to footwear, but I found my line nonetheless.  I called him all in a grouch demanding he admit his sin.  He did--but with a shrug.  No. Big. Deal.
What?!
I'm sorry, but socks ARE a big deal.  At least NOW they are, because I was grouchy and wanted to go to the gym and now I'm left for the week with no socks.  His shrug-off was the fuel to my fi-ya! Now I'm not grouchy I'm flaming mad!  "Oh the man thinks he doesn't have any socks?  I'll show him not have any socks!"
So I did.  I picked up his rather full sock drawer and threw them all in the garbage.  Now he doesn't have socks.  That'll teach him.

I know.  Yes, I realize I am not in middle school (now at least).  I called him and confessed, and he laughed at me. I wanted to downplay it, but I couldn't even pull out the girl logic on him.  You know, the "it's not really about the socks, it's about. . . "  Because really, it was about the socks.  I wanted some, didn't have some, he did have some, and that made me grumpy.

So now I have to buy the man some socks too.  Lots and lots of socks.  So he doesn't steal mine.  But c'mon, what kind of man steals a woman's socks?

Who knows?  I do know who won't try to pull that trick again though.  Because the truth is, it was about the socks.

It Was a Dark and Gloomy Night. . . .

Jack: Mom, can I tell you a spooky story?

 Me: Sure!

 Jack: Okay, okay. There was a guy and he runned away, and then a bad guy came and then he runned away again, and then a scary guy came and then, it turned off.

*chills* I have chills.

Zoe Jayne Reid. . . 6 months!

It was her half-year birthday yesterday! Love that sweet little face!  If you're curious, here's a link to Jack's 6 month pics

The Truth Will Wiggle Free

You know what the worst thing about being elderly is?  You don't get to have fun like when you're young--like your twenties or younger.  You don't get to just display your raw emotions out there for anyone to see.  Why?  Because I'm sure my college professor wouldn't just softly tell me to use my words if I just up and chucked a stick at her in the middle of her lecture (like Jack). and no one wants to be the  checker who has to check out the crazy middle aged Mom who skipped through the entire grocery shopping trip (ala Sydney).  It truly is unfair.
That's what I love about Zumba.  Not only do I get to wiggle and jump I also get to shout Whoo! whenever the heck I feel like it and nobody wants to have me committed.  It's the only place a grown woman can randomly shout WHOO! in public and it's acceptable.  There should be more Whoo! opportunities dangit!  Like if I'm dropping off my kids at school and we are all on time PLUS I had a good hair-day. . . that should be an automatic wiggle, jump, and whoo! moment.  But I'm afraid it won't be so.
What's unfortunate about Zumba is that it's a lot of hip action.  And by-golly my hips don't lie.  Like ever, but I really wish they would.  If they would fib a little maybe I wouldn't look like such a fool out there and people wouldn't be giving me extra space so that my hips don't poke out their eye.    My hips don't sway, but they are reliable little truth tellers.  They shout  their testimony of truth right out over my jeans every day. The truth is out there, everywhere: my right side, my left side, my backside. Before you go thinking I'm knocking myself down, I'm not.  I'm a fan of honesty, so therefore I love my cute little truth-handles.  They've really grown on me.
Look where this post went!  It turned into babble about flubber--love it!  Seriously though, love me some zumba no matter how rough I look doing it.  I have a bit of an addiction, but how could I not?  I've lost 16 lbs of baby weight in 16 weeks so far, and since starting have never "not felt like going".  I love having people come and shake and shout with me, so if you're looking for a exercise partner, let me know!

I Hear Dead People

I do.  It's my sixth-sense. But only their feet so I must not be crazy.


You know that floating wave you get on when you are trying to fall asleep?  That one where your brain suddenly starts to mush over to sleep mode?  There's that weird space-void right in between.

Oh, I guess I could have just said when you're not quite asleep, not quite awake. You get the idea.

That's when I hear them.  It doesn't happen during the mush-void all the time, but every once in a while it happens:  I'm just about to nod off when I hear footsteps down my hall, feel like someone is checking on me, then its like the footsteps fade away.  Then I sleep shake out of the void and I'm awake because I can't tell if it really happened or not.


It probably doesn't.  But last night there was an added bonus: a door shutting and then a squeal.  The squeal ended up being the guinea pigs (dang pigs), but I can't tell you what the door was.

Weird, right?  No I don't really think it's dead people, but it sure isn't alive people either.  It's just a weird trick my brain likes to play when it's in swimming mode. Isn't he funny?

I sure thought so at 3:00 am last night.

So let's talk brains.  What kind of games does yours like to play when you're starting to zonk?
Also, can you tell I wrote this on 3 hours of sleep?  Yes, I think so.

Big Brother Will Help

Zoe is screaming.

Jack-boy to the rescue:

"Awe, Zoe, don't cry. . . hey Zoe, wanna see my butt?"


Suprisingly, it wasn't helpful.


Seriously I think someone else is raising my son in secret.  Where does he come up with this stuff?
Last night before bed I asked him to go potty before getting in his Jammies.

"I already did."

"When?"

"In the grass."

"Ah."

Why did I even ask?  The problem was he just came in from playing in the FRONT yard.

"It was funny Mom"

Hmmm.  I bet he thought so.  My plants and neighbors. . . probably not so much.

I was drunk.

So last week I was in a drunken stupor.

 Except I wasn't, so there is no explanation for my impulsiveness.

Sometimes I just do things.  I wish I could say I got bees in my bonnet, but I don't wear bonnets, and even if I did wear floppy hats with unflattering chin grippers and use them to collect bees at least I would end up with honey.  Instead I just end up with guinea pigs. Two of them.  

I didn't go out trying to get guinea pigs or anything, I don't have some weird fascination with fuzzy rodents who do not in fact resemble anything close to their piggy names.
 I was just sitting there, minding my own business when the stupid idea cloud flashed a bolt of lighting from the sky, through my bedroom window, and hit me smack in the back of the head sending me right off of the couch I was sitting on and onto the floor. 

There was nothing I could do because my mouth has absolutely no defense against super lightning idea clouds. So I just spblurted out "Hey kids, if you get rid of half of your toys, I will help you buy those guinea pigs you've been saving up for f-o-r-e-v-e-r!" 

The problem was, they heard me.

The other problem was, I didn't yet realize that super-lightning-idea-cloud is an idiot. So I didn't even have the opportunity to throw out a big 'ol "just kidding" . 

Truth is folks, they stink.  The guinea pigs.  Just like every rational thinking person told me they would.  

It's not the first time this has happened.  Once upon a time this summer I was knocked off the couch with the notion that I might want to go to college.  So here I am, in my first semester of college, trying to figure out homework again when I could just be enjoying my daily hair/nail/massage/eyelash/moisturize/shoelace/glitter/zumba/knitting/bon-bon appointments I was so used to before.  

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A diagram:

ME THREE MONTHS AGO:  pet free, non smelly house, & leisure time

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^------------------------>*@* (ideacloudlightningstrike)

ME TODAY:  stinky pigs, stinky house, stinky homework, & no leisure time stinks.  Like stinky stinks.

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I'm sure they will have some diagram classes in school if you found this one rough to follow.  

I had no choice.  

It was the drunken stupor.

Except it wasn't.

<----- Not a Guinea

First Day of School

There is NOTHING quite like starting your morning by hauling all your kiddo's to the car and sidestepping the badger sized beetle to get in your car only to end up crunching your flip flop right on top of his smunchy-gooey buddy a second later.  Ack! I'm going to have the eeby-jeeby's all day.

Oh, you wanna hear about the first day of school for Sydney's first grade, yes?  I know it will suprise everyone, but I don't have pictures of it--yet.  ***SCHOCKFACE****

But I will get pictures when she comes home and her hair is a mess and her face and dress are covered in her school lunch.  That should be a great shot!  She's stinking cute no matter what, I think anyway, and was way excited to start first grade today. She's going to do awesome.  Skye started last week, but I wasn't allowed to make a big deal because "I hate school, they have too many rules."  Hmmm, I think we will have to come up with more rules at our house because Skye claims we only have "like five". 

 In other news I found out today that we barely missed out on a rockin' name for Zoe. (By the way readers. . . we also have a baby named Zoe, ha!).

Jack: Mom, I'm glad I named her Zoe because it's a cute name.

Me: Yeah, me too bud, good choice.

Jack: I know, I almost named her Concentrate, but decided to with Zoe.

Wow, had I known about the other option, that would have made my naming experience much, much harder.  Unfortunately, the papers are signed and she will forever be named Zoe.  I hope she forgives us later for passing up a gem, but if not I can just tell her it was all Jack's fault.

Boogs

Me: Jack, get a tissue, you've got a booger in your nose.
Jack: why mom?
Me: why what?
Jack: why do I HAVE to get a tissue?
Me: Because its socially unacceptable to use your finger, bud.  You won't keep any friends that way.
Jack: No why do I have to use a tissue?  Boogers are supposed to be in your nose. That's where they come from.

He has a point--I guess.


Me: alright buddy, I guess just carry on playing then.


I'm still not sure about how this will go over with his friends, but Sydney eventually learned to wear pants, so maybe Jack will learn to love tissues.  Should be interesting to watch.

Math Rules, Summer Drools

Skye (after first day of 3rd grade): Mom, there's a test in math tomorrow and I'm afraid I lost my mind over the summer. I don't want to be in the easy levels, I want to be in the middle levels!
Me: It doesn't matter what level you're in, you just find out your level, work hard then move up next year, no biggie.
Skye: But Mo-om! I've been trying to practice math all summer but people keep coming and asking me to play!
Me: You've been trying to do math ALL summer, but people have been asking you to play? Hmmmm. . . I don't know. When were you trying to do math this summer again?
Skye: I would think of equations in my head, but then someone would knock on the door and want to play.
Me: uh-huh.
Skye: Yeah Mom, and like you would always say, lets go swimming at the rec center or whatever, so we would have to go.
Me: So I wanted to go swimming at the rec center, but you wanted to stay home and do math. . . . am I getting this right?
Skye: yes, that's right.



Uh-huh.

I've spent the entire summer trying to have as much fun and experiences as we can, packing several outings into a week and all my daughter wanted to do was stay home and do math.  Makes me wonder how that conversation with Skye and her teacher is going to go. Hmmmm.

I'm thinking my next summer is going to be A LOT easier on the gas mileage. Mwahahahaha!

Put My Cap & Gown On, I'm Ready!

I'm starting school this month.  Real school at a real college.  It's the community college, but seriously folks, let's not go all crazy here.  I'm excited because now that I'm old and thir----well, you know, that one age, I have a much better perspective on life and know what I want to learn and since I've been a stay at home mom for so long I don't really care about how much money I'm going to make when I'm done.  I just want to go.  N-E-V-E-R thought I would say that.

So I tell my daughter Skye my school starts soon and she says, "Mom, why are you going back to college again?!"
"I've never gone to college honey, it's my first time."
--Super Serious Face "But mom, I hope they don't kick you out because you're so smart and you already know everything!"

Me too Skye, me too.

And that friends, is why she's my favorite.

Still a Cool Dude

Let me introduce you to a member of our family.  He is one that doesn't get a lot of love and I'm really not sure why.  This is he:




Our fridge Ol' Trusty.  You must not adjust your color monitors, yes that is 70's almond folks.  I would remove the random picture clusters and magnets, but I am convinced it actually looks better with them in place.

We call him our Dave Ramsey fridge and anyone who has read the Dave Ramsey books knows exactly what I'm talking about.  We have had Ol' Trusty for as long as we have been married.  We acquired him when we purchased our first home--amazingly he came with the house! They didn't want to take him with them. Imagine that? But we weren't about to give him up when we moved, no way Jose. Can't leave a gem like this behind! Anyway, we are coming up on our 10 year anniversary pretty quick here so that makes our time with Trusty roughly 10 years, which is great because I imagine he has been a staple for a lot of other 10 year anniversaries.

He is not pretty.  He is not large.  He does not come with an interior light.  But none of that really matters. You know why?  Because guess what is the ONLY appliance that still works in my otherwise stainless steel kitchen.  That's right.

So laugh all you want, but Ol' Trusty is here to stay, much to my Mother in Law's chagrin (kidding Lori).  At least until I feel like forking over the $2000 cash for a brand new shiny one, or when the other side of his only freezer shelf finally falls in, whichever comes first.

So what's the point of this post?  There isn't one.  That's what's great about not blogging in for-ev-er, no one reads your posts anyway so you can blog about whatever you want!  Or maybe I just needed to find some more self restraint to stop from getting the eyesore out of my kitchen.  Your guess is as good as mine.