Weed

Remember when the word "weed" was a good word? Ah yes, the word invoked Pink Floyd, someone's bedroom (with standard towel shoved underneath the door jam) and a dryer sheet tucked into an end of an empty paper towel roll. Ah, youth! Giggling at your friend's skinny ankles that you, completely baked, just now noticed. Or that lyric that just churned out on the record player (remember those?) that had everyone pondering the meaning of life.

No, the weed I'm referring to is the Creeping Charlie that has invaded my life. Every single one of my gardens, and I have many, is infested with this damn weed! I have just spent the last 6 1/2 hours weeding gardens, and I'm only about 1/2 way done. This sucks. I seriously wish I had some of that other weed right now, because maybe the time would go by faster. Oh wait, that kind of weed makes everything slow down.

So, out to my gardens I go. Thankfully my kidlets are still unaware of weed, because otherwise while I'm pulling them, they would probably be in the house smoking them. Like what was happening back in the day.

A Mullet By Any Other Name....

We are vacationing in Michigan for a long weekend. And of course not only did I bring the laptop with, I also vehemently people watch. We were at the beach, and littlest kidlet needed to potty. So I stand in line with a sand-covered, bronzed six year old, waiting for the next available stall to open. There stood in front of us was a mom with her son. The tyke couldn't have been more than four, but he sprouted a mullet from his round little head. His bangs were uber-short, as was the rest of the hair on his head. The hair on the back of his head was half-way down his back. I sized up mom and realized then where the mullet came from. Mom is wearing a standard mom-issued skirted tankini, but unlike myself, she had the strangest tattoo on her shoulder. Now, I am certainly not looking down on anyone with a tatoo (I secretely desire one myself, but that is another post and I digress), it's just HER tatoo that had me pondering. On her shoulder was Minnie Mouse, er, uh, a WELL endowed Minnie Mouse holding a bong. Minnie's eyes were glassy and she was holding her skirt up on one side to reveal a garter belt and nothing else.

So, ladies, please. A little decorum. Should you find yourself with a tattoo that is rather, um, questionable, please visit a plastic surgeon and have it removed. Or else you might feel compelled to think that mullets are just fine.

Dusting off the Sex Toys

You know you haven't done it in a while when you go to close your bedroom door for a little privacy and you have to move:

1. A box of Barbies
2. Two saddled American Girl horses
3. A laundry basket full of clean clothes from two weeks ago
4. Approximately 4 of your husband's dress shirts waiting to be ironed, hanging from each doorknob
5. One soccer shoe, children size 13
5. Your husbands dress shoes that of course, smell

And because you made so much noise moving all this stuff, you now have to relocate one half-asleep 8 year old back to her bed.

Mission accomplished!

Little Nipples

I found myself alone for a few hours today, so I parked myself in an over-sized chair and helped myself to an over-sized, over-priced cup of coffee at the neighborhood Starbucks. I was planning on writing, but brought along the latest of my summer reads instead. One of the barristas was this skinny guy, in his 20s maybe? Anyway, he had on this tight white, lycra t-shirt. Let's just say that the coffee shop was air conditioned. And let's just say that that this guy was not wearing a padded bra. Being the people watcher that I am, I couldn't help but stare at his nipples. He had the SMALLEST nipples I have ever seen! Now, I'm not a nipple connesouir by any means, but these things were like little soldiers standing at attention to the best of their abilities. And because the lycra tee was white, you could see the outline of the areaola. And they were damn small as well. Huh. I wonder if this guy's girlfriend (and or boyfriend) has ever told him to stop wearing these types of shirts. Or maybe they are the reason he DOES wear these types of shirts! LOL! Blech!

OK, this is weird. I should stop. See what happens when kids are on summer vacation? Their mom's minds turn to mush.

Divorce at the Drive Through

No, I'm not divorcing! But McDonald's drive through almost caused World War III in this house! I'm a full-time mom, so I'm used to dealing with the drive through at most fast food restaurants. But my loving husband decided to go through the drive through at McDonald's on Saturday. (By the way, he has done this before, he wasn't entering virgin territory here. Trust me folks, the man eats his share of Mickey D's.) He comes home with what is supposed to be 2 six piece McNugget Happy Meals, 2 kids Sprites, 2 ranch sauces, a crispy Southwest salad, 1 large ice tea (not that sweet tea crap) with lemon, and a quarter pounder value meal for himself.

I am going through the bags and happy meal cartons. No ranch sauce. Enter a screaming 6 year old. No toy in one box. Enter a screaming 8 year old. My ice tea? Yep, a sweet tea (blech). The only thing that my significant other got correct was his meal. So I tell him he has to go back. I get the look from hell like I just asked him to drive to Russia for some caviar. McDonald's is less than a mile from our house. I explain to him that it's his own dumb ass fault for not checking the bags and boxes before he pulled away. He then starts lecturing me on how, if people did their job correctly, and actually took pride in their job, then mistakes like this wouldn't happen.

Uh, hello? We're talking McDonald's here sweetie, not Nordstroms. I gently remind him that the three women in his life (which only one is speaking rationally, the other two are now on the floor in full-blown temper tantrums) would be a hell of a lot happier if he had taken the time to check the bags.

So, being the mom that I am, I take the receipt and car keys and go back to McDonalds. I get the missing toy, my correct ice tea (with 2 lemons thank-you-very-much) and ranch sauce. And because they were apologetic, I scored 3 free chocolate shakes. When I walked in, the kids cheered up and were thrilled with their free desserts. Hubby on the other hand asked where his shake was. With one eyebrow raised ever so slightly, I told him that I didn't check the bag before I left.

Summer Vacation Day 1

Well, so much for the sleeping in! Kiddos are still in early mode and woke me up at 7:30am. Thankfully there was only one hitting incident, but it's early, only 10:30am. Now I must go navigate Target with them. God give me strength to say no to Moon Sand!

Last Day of School!

Woo Hoo?

It's only been 7 hours since the kiddos were released to my summer custody, and already we're whining and fighting. Of course it's also ten o'clock at night and they are in need of some serious sleep. I'm fairly confident that summer vacation was created by a man. A man who works 5 days a week and only interacts with his children from the hours of 6pm to 8:30pm.

You hear about these moms that have drinking problems, or who smoke pot all day long. Well DUH! I can totally see this! I get it!

And while we're on the subject of man's creations - Polly Pockets... WTF? How many little itty bitty rubber shoes can one possibly pick up before one reaches for the vacuum?