"I'm Fashional"

Who am I to tell him otherwise?

(oh the blackmail opportunities for the teen years!)

They're Just Preparing Me for the Big Injury

The Febreeze was left out after a nap-time accident.

Stupid parents.

Mr. 6 sprays Mr. 4 in the eye with the Febreeze--because what six year-old can resist a spray bottle?

So here's what I hear first:

Mr. 6: I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

One brother apologizing to the other? The sure sign something is wrong.

Mr. 4: Ow.

Mr. 4: He sprayed me in the eye.

Mr. 6 runs away.

Me: Mr. 4, you okay?

Mr. 4: My eye is wet (I'm guessing that's better than "it burns like a m-ther f-ckng jalapeno mom.").

Mr. 6: (from the other room) Well Mr. 4. at least your eye will smell good.

Do you know how hard it is not to laugh while you're trying to punish your child?

A Little Pomp in My Circumstance

You're the one "graduating" from sixth grade today, and yet I'm the one who is up early with a touch of the butterflies.

I have been your parent for eight years, but right now--right at this very moment--I know that I am and always will be your mom.

I love you buddy--with or without your curls of fury--and I couldn't be more proud of you.

Another Port-o-Potty Post

Baseball season is upon us once again (does it really ever end?) and as you know there aren't many options for a girl when nature calls at the field.

I avoid the dreaded Port-o-Potties as much as possible, especially after the incident last year, but sometimes there's just no choice.

We were down at the fields for a marathon afternoon and all of the sudden my breakfast came back to haunt me.

There wasn't any time to make it home.

I found a relatively clean cabinet o' ca-ca and went about my business. So many thoughts ran through my head as I was finding my way to sweet relief.

What if some kid forces the door open and everyone sees me with my pants down?

What if a long line has developed since I stepped in here?

Is the tank full enough that the next person will know I had the sour-apple-quick-steps?

As these totally rational and sane thoughts caused me to sweat a little, my eyes landed on this:


I HAD to know whose job it was to figure THAT out.

As part of my research (see what I do for you??), I made the most fascinating discovery--the PSAI--and boy is their website full of interesting information!

For instance, did you know that there are 1,400,000 portable toilets in use worldwide? That they call waste "effluent" (I'm kinda liking that word)? And that they have developed a Special Events Usage Guide?

I know, me neither.

Those portable sanitation people are some helpful folk.

To top it all off, the nice folks at the PSAI hand out the M.Z. "Andy" Dump--I mean--Gump Award which is a "lifetime achievement award honoring those that have improved the image of the industry and have created innovative approaches for sanitation needs through new and improved products and services."

I want to party with these guys.

Spring Fever

I know new posts have been pretty sparse around here, but springtime here in the wilds of Northern Virginia (and when I say wilds I mean the Target parking lot on Saturday morning) speeds by at breakneck pace (or that might be how I drive to work every morning).

So aside from my regular duties protecting poor little corporate America from mean ole lawmakers and their big bully constituents, I've been busy ensuring that America's youth understands that our national pastime is indeed a sport played outside and does not involve controllers and a big screen.






Of course, I've also been spreading beauty far and wide (What? My house is on the corner, I have to plant on two sides).


I've been sowing the seeds for a bountiful harvest (if you call a few salads and enough jalapeno peppers to start your own salsa company bountiful).

And well, the kids do need a rinsing off every once in a while.

There Are Days

There are days when your kitchen sink develops a clog and it's a holiday weekend and 35 people are coming to your house so you run back and forth to use the guest bathroom sink while preparing the food for said guests--ignoring the fact that you will have no way to clean up after them when they leave at 3:00 a.m.

There are days when you read her and you almost wet your pants because holy crap is she funny, but then you secretly plot to steal her brain because you know you'll never be that funny, but then you secretly thank the goddess of discount designer shoes that she walks this planet at the same time you do.

There are days when your six year-old mumbles the word "evaporate" as he's drifting off to sleep so he can commit the new word to memory and your heart just explodes with pride, but then you remember five minutes earlier he was telling you about the "masagna" he had for dinner and you decide that he might not get that Nobel after all.

There are days when you don't think your blogging is ever going to amount to much and then you get invited to this super-swanky, invite-only reception for the premiere of a new movie and you decide that you might not abandon your blog after all, until you get to the super-swanky, invite-only party and they play Kung Fu Fighting over and over and over again for two hours straight and there is no alcohol, so you decide that the party was secretly a punishment and you were invited because your blog sucks big black licorice-flavored turds.

There are days when your friend complains over email about all the traveling they must do over the summer and your inner bitch can be silenced no more so she sends a snide reply suggesting that the person have a terrific summer and contact her when they actually want to talk, but then your bitch rethinks her rudeness and cancels the reply before it's sent. Still feeling pissy after the original reply is discarded, the bitch decides to send one anyway--just a bit snarkier this time--only to realize once that one is gone that they were both sent and now you just look like an idiot.

There are days when you can feel the scream begin deep in your stomach and as it rises you know that if you don't figure out soon what your purpose in life is there is no way you're going to prevent that scream from deafening those around you so you decide to tell your husband about it and he suggests you quash it by getting up earlier in the morning to make your children pancakes.

There are days you don't kill your husband.

There are days when you are little and you think it would be cool to have a retainer or a cast or something neato like that and then you grow up and you trip on the sidewalk because apparently a single step down can be dicey terrain to negotiate and you break your ankle and you get a cast and then the cast comes off and your ankle still doesn't heal and then you want to remove your leg at the knee and use the separated appendage to knock your orthopedist silly until he fixes you enough so that you can wear flip flops again, because damn it's finally flip flop weather.

Yep. There are days.

If a Tree Falls in the Forest...

If I avoid walking through my kitchen today, does the mess cease to exist?

Welcome to my Sunday experiment more easily accomplished because of the two baseball games and the meetings both the hubs and I need to attend today. Add to it the fact that I'm supposed to be using crutches again and I think I feel perfectly justified in closing my eyes as I walk through that room just one more time as I head out the door.

Hope you're enjoying your Sunday and ignoring the ugly in your life--even if it's just for one day.