Man Card

Do you ever see a man and wonder how in the world he was ever issued his man card in the first place?  I love my manly man.  He can easily handle home projects, yard stuff, car stuff, computer stuff (well, duh) and he looks great without his shirt on.  If I have a problem, I can totally embrace the "damsel in distress" vibe and he's my guy.  Not all guys can pull this off.  His card is laminated.  I've never, once, felt like yanking it from him.  He's got the stones to pull off most anything.

So you won't hear me complaining about toilet seats being left up.  I'm good.  It goes with the territory.

Mr. B - - he's my man.  

Summer Lazies

Day three into our real summer vacation (last week didn't count because of VBS) and I'm already feeling like a tyrant.

Time to set some ground rules and enforce them.

I've been lax on the "no eating in your room" rule.  That stops.  Right now.  Their room floors are tile.  And one of the minion's room had crumbs everywhere.  Pop Tart, cereal, popcorn, chex mix.  It was nasty.  I told him that he blew his last chance.  No more.  No food in the room.  Period.

Another thing - - thou shalt not hide out in one's room all day and play on the computer, play video games or watch TV.  Bored?  I will find you something for them to do.  But dang it, you need to be a freakin' kid. I get that it's hot outside.  It was hot outside when I was a kid, too.  I survived.  I didn't whine when told I was going to the pool.  I BEGGED to go to the pool.  I would have gone every stinkin' day.  And don't even get me started on Sea World.  We announced last night that we have an upcoming trip there.  I had one complainer and one happy kid.  Tough. Stuff.  We're going.  And you can sit and pout all day. (I'm certain you won't.  You love it.)

On that note, this vacay is unplugged.  That's right.  No electronic devices for kids.  I will permit movies in the van.  But that's it.  We're going to the library on Friday and checking out books.  Read up my little darlings.  Get lost in fiction.  It's good for you.  Lest you think I'm a Bossy McBosserson, I'll be reading, too.  I have plenty of books on my Kindle.  I'll probably leave my iPad at home anyway and take my old school Kindle.  No games on that.  Just me and books.

I am not letting my kids became total lame-o lazies.

Now - - we're headed to go find a couple of swim shirts, get the van washed and then we're going swimming.

My name is B and I refuse to raise lazy children.

Boobs

So this is how it went down.  (Pun totally intended.)

I was putting away dishes for my youngest minion.  He had unloaded the dishwasher.  The things he doesn't know where they belong or he can't reach, he sets on the counter.  And I put them away.  So as I bent over (still in my gown - - again with the judging - - it's summer) he quickly put his hand up over his eyes and said, "Mom, I can totally see your floppy things."

Bam.

Just like that.  My boobs went from something I'm proud of to, in his eyes, floppy things.

Now, for the record, I don't want him to like my floppy things.  I prefer he look away.  And I need to be more careful so that he doesn't have to ever endure the trauma again.  I'm not ashamed of them.  But I do believe in healthy boundaries with my children.  (On that note, you fellas can stop coming into the bathroom anytime now.  Clever little lock pickers.)

I would like to set the record straight.  I'm sure that, in his young opinion, they are floppy.  I can see where he would call them that.  They aren't fake.  So they actually move.  And they aren't small.  They used to be much larger.  But thanks to fantastic insurance and a terrific plastic surgeon, my ginormous knockers became a reasonable size back in 1999.  And they stood up, instead of hanging.  (I'm sorry if my brothers read this and find this disturbing.  You should have not even read this based solely on the title.)  It is fourteen years later and I'm sure a bit of a lift would be in order.  Maybe just weight loss.  But that's beside the point.

My boobs have been noticed.  And now I feel like I have to be a little more modest around the home.  Do I have to wear a bra now?  The sisters weren't meant to be caged for long periods of time.  And frankly, I curse the person who invented underwire.  I like sports bras.  But they just smash 'em.  I feel somewhat "mannish" when I wear the sports bras.

Thank God I don't have periods anymore or this might be a really crappy woman moment for me.  At least I will never have to deal with "shark week" again.  Ever.  I'll just keep the girls upright and call it good.

Did I really just type up a long post about boobs?  Why yes.  Yes I did.  And you love me for that.  Don't ya?

This is what I got done...

Read the post below.  I challenged myself.  Cleaning.

You probably don't care.  But, again, I'm doing this for me.  If you're inspired, well, then you're inspired.  Yay.

In the past 45 minutes:

I dusted the living room and my bedroom.

I filed paper work that seemed to declare squatter's rights on my desk.  (I had cleaned my desk drawer out earlier this morning.  My desk has achieved rock star status.)

I made up my bed.  (Don't judge me.  I just wasn't in the mood when I crawled out of it at 9:30 this morning.)

I re-positioned Gus back onto the freshly made bed.  He purred.  It made me happy.

I cleaned off the top of my dresser.

I picked up and put away four pairs of my shoes that were in various places in the house.  The one thing I gripe about the most, I am guilty of.  For shame.

I summoned the designated minion for his turn to unload the dishwasher.  (I'm about to go re-load it.)

I made the other minion a pitcher of his favorite kool-aid.  He doesn't even know yet.

I brushed my teeth because I had onions with my lunch.  My mouth felt funky.  A funky mouth is not a happy mouth.

I'm about to:

Run the dust mop over the wood flooring and vacuum both minions' rooms.

Start dinner.  Lime Butter Chicken.  It will be fabulous and you should be jealous.

Pet Gus.  Again.  He loves it when I pet him.  I'm his person.

Pour my first Diet Coke w/Splenda for the day.  3:10 and I haven't had one yet?  Yikes.  That's insane.

Check Amazon for the status of an order.  I already feel sorry for the UPS man.  I'm certain I'll scare him when I spring out from behind the door when the bell rings.  I really need this package to arrive by Friday.  *crosses fingers*

Okay.  I'm out.  Stuffs to do.

Later.

Hi

I've got nothing.  Seriously.  Nothing.  But I'm hoping to revive this place again and this is my very lame attempt at making at least one entry.  Anyone still out there?  Do I just talk to myself?  I'll try to think of something good again.

Ohhhhhh.  I've got an idea.  Cleaning.  I'll do a little cleaning challenge.  If anything, just for me.  You know, accountability and all of that.

I'll report back in 45 minutes.