Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, sunshine and flowers and toilets and mittens, these are a few of my favorite things!
Gratuitous shots of Joe and Lily:
The other night at bedtime, like most kids, Joe wanted me to read him a book about tooth decay . There I was acting it out and really getting into it, "Meet your guests! Weeee're called Bac Tee Reee ah! YOUR mouth is our Cah Feh Teeeer e ah!" when...
Joe: Mommy!!!!! *points to bloated lavender blue-haired pucker-faced fat Elvis if-he-were-a-warlock bacteria*
Me:
Me: Where's Mommy??
Joe: ...
Me: Are you sure you didn't mean here? *I point to a jovial, more comely-faced bacteria*
I swear off red lipstick and vow to get a chin tuck.
The next day I emerge from my closet ready to paint the supermarket red. Joe smiles and points and says, "Beach!"
I vow to stop clothes shopping at Wal-Mart.
It's just that sometimes when I'm there to pick up a mop or some other perfectly socially-justifiable Wal-Mart prospective purchase, I pass a really cute shirt and think to myself, "Seven bucks? That's madness! Who wouldn't buy this for that price? Nobody will know." I look around to see if anyone's glowering, then shove the offending item under a 250 pound bag of Pedigree hoity-toity small dog niblets and skulk away.
I'm so glad I ended up in this family, with these children. I spend my days laughing. Even situations sparked from irritation, frustration, and massive food cravings are likely to be chuckled at for their ridiculousness before the last flame sputters to a puff.
Last night my husband and I were debating the exact date of purchase of a now-absent small plastic container of dark chocolate-covered almonds. He swore up and down it was three days ago, Friday. I insisted that it had been at least week and a half, certainly enough time for each and every last one of them to have been eaten, that I would know because I did all the shopping. He let it be known that I was wrong, very wrong, and that I purchased them on Friday. When I admitted I thought maybe he didn't like them so it seemed right and natural to dispose of them by manner of consumption, his eyes widened and he said without speaking, "Chocolate? Almonds?"
Without giving an inch, he snatched something from behind the tub of I Can't Believe it's Not Butter Light, and proceeded to huff and puff his way down the hallway on crutches in the most theatrical and self-righteous manner possible. Tink, tink, growl, tink, tink.
After he disappeared around the corner, I opened the fridge to procure a bottle of water. He had left the last mini Snickers bar for me.
