Monday, October 15, 2012

and then I moved to Finland

It worked last time.
watching the unhelpful employees scurry away to leave us locked out of the dressing rooms.
sending my cute MacGyver to the rescue, scootching under the doors and triumphantly opening them for his grateful momma.
until disaster struck.

dressing room 1
“There’s nobody in this one Momma”

dressing room 2
“Oh wait.”
“Momma, there IS somebody in this one.”

dressing room 3
What’s this?  This is Momma fainting.


Sunday, October 07, 2012

now that my husband has an excuse


strike that…

now that my husband has a convenient excuse not to blog…


So the dude messed up his bicep.  Like big time.

Like Tylenol-is-a-food-group kind of big time.


And while his right jab is disabled, I’ll show you what that bicep looks like when it’s not making him say all kinds of funny words…




Being a gen-you-wine redneck means that you pretend the Tylenol is working until either the weekend or after-hours.  In which case you check in to Urgent Care on Saturday morning and get yourself a pretty new sling and a specialist appointment.


Now explain to me again how he can get out of blogging, but still manages to tease me on Facebook?






He jumped into the fray.  Much indebted to Brandi:



Though I must say… I really do prefer watching my own Mr. Rockin Hottie Magnum Daddy wash my car :)



For the record: I did not run out of gas.  I have never run out of gas.  I’ve done a lot of blogworthy things, but my record for remaining sufficiently fueled at all times is still standing.


But lemme tell ya - when you live in the country, work in the city, and the kiddo goes to school in yet another city… the gas prices make you want to twitch.  End rant.




So this leaves you, poor readers, with the crumbs of my randomness yet again.  I have some nice posts all written out.  In my head.  And yet one look at my phone tells me 14 things I forgot to blog about.


As in… when this fair ride suddenly stopped directly over our heads.



Those things never stop.  And some girls were stuck in there for a very long time.  As you can see below, I was much happier once their ride started moving again, and so did ours.



That just ain’t right.  I look like I don’t have any teeth.  Like, remember the time Shana’s mom asked her to go look for her teeth in Shana’s driveway?


“I’m sorry son, I fink I lef mah teef on da last ride”


And I have at least three chins.


And weirdly enough, the guy behind us is also wearing blue plaid.  We’re the State Fair mini gang.  Representin’, yo.




And I’m really struggling with how to write this delicately.



See Itty Bit’s slackjawed expression?  I mean, I’ve never seen the kid interrupt his consumption of pizza for anything.

People watching.


I’m all for individuality.  But sometimes it needs to be tempered with the reality that some things are just not appropriate for public.

I can handle the three-foot high neon mohawk, the leather ensemble with spikes and 14” Go Go boots, the facial piercings connected by chains, and even sometimes boys with eyeliner.


But the girl who stood there in her underwear (there is no other word to describe the garment that exposed her cheekiness), with words inked onto her *ahem* bottom



You remember my little super reader right?  Do you have any idea how fast one must respond to keep a mesmerized first-grader from sounding out an entire poem that had been tattooed on someone’s posterior?


The answer would be , No, no you do not.  Because that would be faster than supersonic and faster than Thor.




And in other Itty Bit news… his 6-year campaign to make me stop at every single public restroom in a tri-state area finally backfired.




In a unisex bathroom, he looked at me with a grimace on his face and said, “it smells bad in here mommy”.  Then proceeded to hold his breath as long as he could.  I cannot remember the last time I laughed so hard.  And of course this is another fine specimen to add to my “Rachel’s photos of bathrooms”.


I’m hoping this lesson stinks sticks.




This is one bathroom picture I don’t mind… the kiddo snuck out of bed early one morning and I caught him pretty much being the greatest kid in the history of ever.





Yeah.  He pretty much totally didn’t get in trouble for climbing on the counter.  Or for the 152 Lego pieces he generously scattered outside the bedroom door.




And because I love you, I really do… here’s my favorite snort this week:







Are you having a blogworthy week yet?

Monday, October 01, 2012

in which the randomness makes it pretty clear where the kiddo gets it



but in my defense, y’all don’t get to hardly ever enjoy my husband’s randomness since he kind of disappeared from blogland.

I’m fine with being blamed for what happens when I’m behind the clicking end of the camera though…


See this?  Is just normal weirdness.




Itty Bit hanging out with Cousin A (who really needs an appropriate blog name… the guy is an absolute crack-up… and pretty darn good with kids.)




Please ignore Itty Bit’s freaky foot (Remember? the doc says is “perfectly normal”…  bite me), and the fact that he is apparently shooting at me.  “Pew pew pew” bullet noises aimed at anyone are strictly verboten. Booger.

All was copacetic during our beaut of a 72 degree day… until this face:




While you would be forgiven for thinking I meant Cousin A’s “I think I just put my hand in poop” face, it is really poor Itty Bit’s.  The morning cough he’d been fighting for three weeks turned into a daylong “cough until you throw up” adventure.



So this morning it was off to the doctor.  Who took one listen and diagnosed croup.  Then asked if we wanted a Whooping Cough test.


So I asked him what the test entailed.


And he flinched.


(trust me… if the doc flinches, just say no).


Then he said something about “into the nasal cavity” and I had visions of holding down a screaming/coughing/throwing up Itty Bit.  The Good Mommy said, “well, you’re pretty sure about that croup thing, right?”



And this should tell you how awesomesauce Children’s Hospital is.  Because he was TICKED that this place didn’t have Mickey Mouse cough-cover-thingies.  Can you tell?



So we’re home today… watching superhero movies and trying to survive Legos on the floor.


And this shot is coincidentally why the “pew pew pew” shooting isn’t allowed in the house:




But really, the worst thing about today was going through the pictures from this weekend.  My sister was visiting, and shockingly… I have no pictures of her face.

This might be because I was severely traumatized by what her appendages were doing…




Apparently our grandmother can grow some kick-butt spiders.  As in, “so that’s what happened to Fifi!”.  And my insane sister t-t-t-touchedddddd the freaky things. Not once.  Twice.





This one courtesy of my parents’ house.  And is one time I am NOT grateful for the resolution on my phone!  Would you believe my mother was on her way to squish it and my sister chased her off?


be nice to spiders


Umm yeah.  This was on our bookshelf as little kids.





All would have been lost if not for this bit of welcome mail:


And honey, don’t worry about the cropped out part.  It said “TO RACHEL”, it didn’t mention Mr. Daddy…


Tiffany (aka Saint Poopicus) sent us an amazing care package.

One item.  One guess.




And one guess who got to it first?






And this is where I’ve failed as a mother.

The kiddo actually left enough to be licked in the bowl.

(Don’t ask me how I know.  Just don’t).





Thank you Tiffany & Co!  I have the best blog friends!




And in other news… I had a bummer experience with a company.  So I kinda asked them about their customer service.


They may have sent four times the number of replacements.


Which (duh) spells GIVEAWAY, right? :)




And even though my husband is till being terribly absent from all things bloggy… just to prove that my genes aren’t ENTIRELY responsible for the therapy Itty Bit is sure to need:


Outta Juice

Tightie Whitie Fright

If you like poop, you eat it


You’re welcome honey.




This is what life has been doing to us lately.  But you just have to laugh.



What craziness has been going on in your lives?