Do You Ever ...

... look at a pair of pants and think, "Those are for a real fatty and would NEVER fit me!"?

Then you try them on and they fit. Maybe they are even a little tight.

I HATE that! I also hate when I accidentally put on something of my husband's and it FITS.

Women have it hard, let me tell you. Go easy on us (I'm saying this because I estimate my demographic is 50% male reading this little ole blog ... the guys want to know what I have to say because I'm like a Female Representative ... HAHAHAHA!!! Now, that is a sad, sad thought).

How was your MLK, Jr. holiday yesterday? Did you have to work anyway or did you sit around on your big ole butt? I never realized that part of his speech was about Catholics and Protestants living together peacefully. Maybe I'm an idealist, but I think the black thing and the religion thing are better since he died. Not a ton better, but better still. Some of my best friends are black. And Protestant. But not at the same time. I'm going to shut up now.

Daddy, What's a Joint?

The other night at dinner Michael had to finish his Explode the Code, which is a workbook that combines spelling, grammar and all that English jazz. He asked Aron what a joint is.

Aron told him it's like a bend in something, like where your elbow is or your knee or your hip.

Then he said, "and" ...

And I thought he was going to say something else, so I said, "Michael, let me tell you about my childhood and the definition of joint."

But no, Aron told him it's like a joint checking account.

I could not resist and had to give him the THIRD definition of a joint so he is not that socially awkward homeschooler we all hear about. I told him it's a marijuana cigarette. They vaguely know what that is, only because every now and then when we are out they hear me exclaim,

"I smell pot! I'd know pot anwhere! I've never been high. I wish I could get high because I would be less high-strung, but it's illegal and I am too attached to you guys, so I'm not getting high. Anyway. How 'bout those Chiefs?"

The Poopie Doula

Have you ever had to be a Poopie Doula for your kid?

FYI: a doula is a labor support person.

One time a friend of mine asked her insurance company if they covered doulas and had to explain what one was, using the above definition. The person goes, "Like a union representative?"

No, dummy, the doula is the person who gives the doctor the stink-eye when the in-pain mom can't do it and the dad is too overwhelmed do it.

Anyway, rarely, but often enough, I have to be the poopie doula for a kid o' mine. It goes like this:

Kid: Mommy, my poop won't come out. It's stuck.

Me: PUUUUUUUUUUSH!

Kid: I'm pushing [panicking] and it won't come out!

Me: I can see the top of the poop's head. It wants to come out, be named and be flushed. Just sit for a moment anad gather your strength, honey, and then PUUUUUUUUUUUUSH!

I'm sure you can conclude that the poop comes out just fine. Thanks to me, the Poopie Doula.

Jordan Takes the Girls to Get They Nails Did

Eva's 4th birthday was in December, before Christmas. Jordan's gift to her was to take her to get her nails done (we say get your nails DID just for fun). We all piled into the mommyvan and rolled on over to the ghetto WalMart (not really ... I mean, this IS still Johnson County, after all, and there's not REALLY a ghetto).

Jordan, Callie and Eva went into the nail salon while me and my boys went back to the toy department and did some other pre-Christmas shopping.

(left) Eva getting ready to get her nails painted with pretty little flowers ... fingers AND toes. The woman did Callie's also just cuz they're sisters and are so dang cute.

Here are my sweet baby girls getting their nails DRIED. Sorry I don't have a picture of the finished product ... the zoom/macro was not working right that day. The girls had such a good time. I never could have dreamed when I started having kids that we would be given someone like Jordan as a big sister to my kids. It is not all peace and light, don't get me wrong here. She acts just like a big sister and sometimes has to chase them down in the house and beat them up :-) But they love each other like siblings, and we thank God for Jordan!

Glade Plug-Ins ... My Nose Fell Off Again

I just got my nose put back on my face from when it fell off smelling Downy Unstopables (where's the second P, you spelling morons?! and I know I've just set myself up to make typing errors in this post, so I totally expect you to berate me for that). Then I had to go and make a stupid purchase called Glade Plug-Ins because I had a coupon (koo-pon).

Why must I buy smelly things? Why do we try to mask the odor that is Life? These are questions to be answered by God when I die.

I enjoy my Beautiful and Happy perfumes and they don't make me sick. I love having a nice candle going ... nothing too perfumey, of course. I like for my house to NOT smell like hamster and dirty diaper, so I try to mask those smells with something like the Glade Plug-In.

All I know is that within minutes of plugging it in (the oil one), I am walking around like a cat with a hairball, trying to hock the nastiness out of my throat. When did I get so flipping sensitive to smells? When I turned 40?

I knew this would happen when I used to Old Lady Babysit this woman and she could NOT handle any smells ... gave me extra money to buy unscented anything-I-could-get-my-hands-on ... unscented deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, makeup. I tried to tell her that $25 back in 1995 would not buy me much of that at the swanky Whole Foods store. So I did my best and of course anything I smelled like would set her off. I think it was my laundry detergent on my clothes that drove her the most nutty, and I could not even smell it.

So who lives near me and wants my costly oil Glade Plug-in with EXTRA REFILLS that I spent like $20 on? Someone with a non-sensitive nose, please. Maybe I'll just donate it to Catholic Charities ... ha!