Today

Sometimes Don asks me, "so what did you do today". And, after numerous arguments and sulking, he has left off any trace of emphasis on the word did, I usually answer with the usual, "nothing". I laugh sometimes because it is so far from the truth. Lets take today for instance.

I took a shower, dried my hair, put on makeup, made the bed, and picked up the front room, all before the troops began their march into battle. The troops being Annaliese, Jack Henry, and sometimes Milsap. Battle meaning, "how to get the short woman to make breakfast, before The Count reveals the number of the day.

Laundry, laundry, laundry. Two days at family camp = two days of laundry.

Went to Wal Mart to return water shoes and picked up two rolls of film, and from looking at those two developed rolls of film I realized that I had two rolls I needed to do something about.

Called local pools to find out about swim lessons.

Washed the car. I was too cheap to go to Red Carpet so I decided to wash it myself. I think it must have been very comical to watch the cheap lady yell and kick the machine after it stole my $1.00. I did laugh in my own way, if laughing means cursing under my breath as I scoured the car for more change, finally giving up in defeat and breaking the $5 bill that I should have just used at Red Carpet.

Talked to Alma, and congratulated her on her recent engagement. You know it's never to late to find love, and it's nice she loves Lindy in spite of his 'gene'.

Sorted coupons. I know, I know, but it saves me around $30 when I shop.

Went to lunch with my husband.

Played on the floor with my children. Well, maybe that was yesterday, but I'm pretty sure I interacted with them in some way.

Made dinner, and this day I went all out and included a salad.

Had coffee with the best girls in the world.

Slime Dog Gene

After having dinner with some of my girlfriends on Friday, what I already knew about men, was confirmed. All men, and I say all, are alike. We had the conversation, yes, the ever famous male-bashing conversation, that all women have about their husbands. However, let it be known, this blog entry will not be about how bad men can be, but rather a little insight as to why they have their bad, bad ways.
Alma, a very wise woman, once told me that all males are born with The Slime Dog gene. She told me about this one day at VZD's after too many beers, but took it very seriously, and made me promise that should I ever, ever share my secret knowledge, I be sure to give her credit for naming and finding a, yet-to-be scientificly discovered, male gene.
They can't stop it. They don't ask for it. They just get it. Gay men, straight men, old men and young men are afflicted. It's a little door prize male babies collect on the way out of the womb. As they exit their mamma's body they are told, "This prize gene will be the best thing you will get for the rest of your life. It will anger many women, but it will bring you much happiness. It is capable of great things. When you are a grown man you will not be responsible for knowing where things like vacuum cleaners and spatulas' are kept in your home. When you are a young and single you will not be responsible for drinking too much and sleeping with too many women. It's yours to use when you're 60, and buy a sports car, and make vulgar eye contact with, much-too-young -for-you, women. Females world wide will just look away, shake their heads and know, it's The Slime Dog Gene, you can't help it. So young man, take this Slime Dog Gene and use it well."

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The Grass is Always Greener

Today as I was walking my friend Ginny to her car, I heard an odd wailing. It sounded like a baby crying. So, the good mother that I am thought, "Shit, it's not time for him to wake up already. I haven't even checked my email."
As I went back inside, I noticed the sound was coming from my backyard. In my best Angela Lansbury, I went outside to investigate. I discovered a pit bull mix, hanging over my fence. His front paws were on the ground, and his left hind leg was stuck on the top of the chain link . In an attempt to scale my, much too tall for him, fence, he got caught. Panicked, I called animal control, who took their ever loving time to get to my house, and in the mean time all I could do was watch him stand there in misery.
I know, I know, why didn't I go help him. Two reasons: I am a chicken, and I don't like being bitten by sacred, hurt dogs.
As I watched him I thought, isn't this just par for the course. We always think the grass is greener on the other side. Well, in this case it's true, the newly planted sod in my back yard makes it much more appealing than my neighbors. So there was my dog, Milsap, cheering him on, pacing back and forth. "Come on," he was telling him, "it's better over here, all the other dogs are doing it, they feed you leftovers here, and you can get fat. No one expects much of me, and I never get asked to do stupid dog tricks."
I have come to realize we will always have the Milsaps in our life, making us think it's better somewhere else. Newer, fresher, more exciting. But ,in the end, all it really is is another yard, filled with just as much dog poop as yours. What that poor, stuck dog didn't know was that Milsap gets yelled at if he rolls around on that new pretty grass too much.
So kids, the moral of this story is this: Before you get stuck, hanging over a fence, with you butt in the air, take time to appeciate your own green grass.

Toilet Etiquette

Annaliese and I had a little conversation yesterday. We had this little conversation after a nice man from Bowler and Sons Plumbing, left with too much of my money.



Summer: Annaliese, this is a toilet.
Annaliese: Yes. Mommy can we do my floor puzzle? Summer: No. I am trying to tell you something.







Summer: We poop and pee on the toilet.
Annaliese: Yes. Mommy I have to pee.
Summer: Not right now.
Annaliese: I can't hold it.
Summer: Fine



Summer: When you are finished going poop or pee you use this to wipe.
Annaliese: Yes. I don't like that kind. I want the ones that smell like grapes.
Summer: Fine




Summer: You can also use this to wipe, but be careful not to use too much.
Annaliese: Yes. We need a new holder, because you broke the other one.
Summer: Fine.




Summer: This does not go in a toilet. Did you see those men take our toilet outside and pull this comb out, while the neighbors watched?
Annaliese: Yes. But daddy must have put that in the toilet.
Summer: Fine.

The Zoo

I am writing this today as a shout out to our humble relatives that call thier home the zoo. No, I'm not talking about you Aunt Diane, or any of my clan in Colorado. I am referring to primates, the ones that actually do live in a zoo.
I been thinking of them often, well the female ones anyway, the past few days as I've tried to eat my lunch, use the computer, use the bathroom, check the mail, make breakfast, or any other daily activities I feel the need to do. I thought of them as my 12 month old, Jack Henry, hung from me and my 3 year old, Annaliese, can stand no more than two feet away from me at any given moment. And I wonder "why, why can't mommy do just one thing without the audience".
So, in a realization of our kinship with these apes, may my grandfather never read this, because after he got over the shock of me asking him who Jehovah was, he a practicing Jehovah's Witness, I don't want him to think that I believe humans have any realtions with apes, I realized the female primates have it much harder than us. I only have my two children hanging from me, I don't have 25 children staring at me though a pane of glass, trying to elicit some sort of emotion or act of insanity. Although poop has been known to fling in my family, it's not from me. Children who have had too much to drink from the overpriced ,blue gorilla sippy cup ,and parents that want to take pictures of the trip to the zoo. "Oh, how cute, look at little Sara making a monkey face at the ape". All the while the female is thinking," Get this god damn kid out of here, and where the hell is the father of 'the one that hangs from me'. Oh, there he is, sitting in the corner checking out the new chimps, picking at his butt".
So if we have so much in common with these creatues, I wonder if they are available for babysitting. I mean I have every intention of paying, the zoo would surely like the little donations. And my children would have no problem with being part of a human/primate study. So ladies when you finish picking the lice out of your friends hair, give me a call.

Thank You Notes

Today I sat down to write thank you notes for the gift's I received for my birthday, and those that Jack Henry received for his. As I began writing I realized that my life is turning out to be just as I hoped it would be. I am surrounded daily by friends and family that love me and my children unconditionally. I have married a man that, among other things, has brought an extended family into my life. One that gives my children and me cousins, aunts, and uncles. Don's parents and my mom could not be better people and without them we would be lost. Our network of friends is amazing they keep us laughing and grounded. To all of you in my life, I love you.

How much sand is too much sand?

I love the afternoons when the temperature is not over 85 and the kids and I can play outside. Not necessarily because I am the outdoorsy type, but because my nuerosis (about having everything clean) doesn't seem to rear its ugly head when I have everyone outside. I watched Annaliese happliy using her water gun to single handidly water every blade of grass in our yard, singing "Swing, Swing Night'n Dale", no not a song about a swinger named Dale, a little variation of Cinderella's "Sing Sweet nightingale". I also watched my son, who was holding on to the sand and water table with a death grip, knuckles turning white out of pure fear that he would let go, eating sand. He was having difficulty getting the sand in his mouth with one hand, but by letting go and using both hands, he could have actually learned to stand and eventually walk, and be forced to give up his prime spot on my hip, where he looks down at his sister and with a smurk that says "thats right, those most loved and revered are carried" . I figured one hand full wouldnt hurt him, and since I was comfortably lodged into my chair with iced tea, I didnt want to make any rash decisions that would result in me to having to get up. I did eventually get up, when he learned the shovel can get more into his mouth than his hand alone, and diverted his attention to the grass, but gave up on outside time completly when he found the roly poly.