I got pulled over for speeding in a school zone the other day. It was the first time in a long time and my heart beat wildly. I frantically searched for my license and I handed it over and I said, “Throw the book at me,” only not really. He walked to the back of car and I snapped a shot of his lights in my rear view mirror. Risky, even for a blogger. He walked back to the window and said “I’m going to give you a verbal warning.” Then I got the lump in my throat and I may have told him I loved him. It’s all kind of blurry. Grace, thank you officer, I needed it that day.
I hurried on (slower) this time to the dentist. I don’t even want to tell you how long it’s been since I’ve darkened the doors of the dentist. My teeth have low self esteem and let me put it this way, I’d rather visit the female doctor every day for a week than have my teeth cleaned. Now I get to have a root canal and crown. They asked me if I wanted to pay extra for sedation. I said, “Is it like having a margarita?” Sign me up.
I had this long, confusing dream the other day and when I work up the only thing I remember about it was that the older my husband got in the dream, the more he looked like Brad Pit. I told him this while we were brushing our teeth. “Really?” he said, eyebrows raised. “Do you look more like Angelina the older you get?”
Every night when my husband gets home he does this: My kids call out “levels of pain” and wrestles them into a hold. If they can wiggle out, they get to go to the next level. It’s one of the favorite things to do. How can this be normal?
And I’m not saying who, but someone’s pants may have ripped in this Quasimoto move:
My 6 year old is the baby of the family. The other day I overheard my 10 year old son ask her why she whined and cried when she didn’t get her way. She started crying and he handed over his bag of pretzels. She looked at him and said, “I’m just really good at fake crying. It’s my gift.” She KNOWS.
Before I had children or belly fat, way back in my 20’s, I met an exhausted mom of 4 who bragged she “trained” her hair and could go 4 days between washings. I thought it was pathetic and a little disgusting. (dramatic pause) Now, I see her as the Jedi of mothers.
We are starting our Spring Break this week with two out of three kids (so far) with fever, vomiting, and freaky gastro noises. So that’s fun.
My kids call out “levels of pain” and wrestles them into a hold. If they can wiggle out, they get to go to the next level. It’s one of the favorite things to do. How can this be normal?
