Canteloupe Boobs

This is a picture of Joel from 2 years ago when we grew cantaloupe in our garden. Aron told him to hold the two halves this way, to look like boobs. Men! Wait, never mind on that because my mind is just as dirty.

Michael-ism

My 6-year-old says, “I know how to live forever. Just stay in the living room.”

Yeah, I’m way ahead of you and am reading “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Indigo Children” as you read this.

Euphemisms

I came across some writer’s guidelines the other day where the publication wants to make sure that, if it ever comes up, you use the term “intellectually challenged” instead of “mentally retarded.” Why did I give a little snort when I saw that, you ask?

Because my mom’s sister is mentally retarded and we’ve always called it that. Because mean kids and other jerks have always used the word “retarded” in a sentence to mean something bad, the term “mentally retarded” is now seen as horrific or something.

If I said “intellectually challenged” in front of my mom’s family, they would laugh their asses off.

So call me height-challenged, kindness-challenged and sanity-challenged. It doesn’t really matter what you call it, I’m still short, bitchy and crazy. And don’t forget cleanliness-challenged (i.e., messy).