He's a Valentine Farthead

Mr. B: *Rips a fart*

Me: Gross.

Mr. B: *Laughs*

Me: It's not funny.  I miss the good old days back when we were a new couple and you never farted in front of me.

Mr. B: Should I fart behind you instead?

Me: I was thinking more like not at all. No farting.

Mr. B: Do you want me to blow up?

Me: Yes. Absolutely. If that's what it takes to stop the flatulence.

Mr. B: Could you turn around?

Me: Why?

Mr. B: *rips one more*

Me: Happy Valentine's Day, Fart Face.

The Week of Becky

Yep, it's my birthday week.  I believe in celebrating the whole week.  Because I'm awesome and stuff.  

I got my first gift today.  Box seats for opening night at the rodeo.  Which happens to fall on my birthday.  Friday the 13th.  I may need a chauffeur this year.  Last year didn't bode too well for me.  Poor Penny.  May she continue to rest in peace.  Or pieces.  I miss my van.  I also got tickets for the finals and for Cinch Shootout.  Yep - the chick who was SO anti-rodeo a few years ago has seen the light.  Or dudes in tight wranglers.  Same difference.  I'd go to EVERY performance if I could.  The awesome part?  Mr. B is totally fine with it.  He likes to see me happy.  My date for my birthday you ask?  My littlest little.  Cam.  He digs it, too.  Actually, he really digs the cotton candy.

Let the week of Becky commence.  Squeeeeeeeee!

Three!

I don't think it's much of a secret to anyone that we've had a rough few years in sports.  Our little basketball team - - bless their hearts.  It's been rough.  We haven't just been beat.  We've been shellacked.  Every game.  In fact, they stop keeping score on the scoreboard when there's a 20 point difference in the score.  I call that mercy.  And I'll take that.  Everyone in attendance knows that we're doing awful.  Our kids appear to have fun.  They may suck, but they're having fun sucking.

Enter today.  I had just texted Mr. B (who is the assistant coach) that I wondered which was worse - - being waterboarded or watching our team play.  I put the phone back in my purse and looked up.  Someone was inbounding the ball to J right by where I was sitting.  I told him to quit dribbling up and stopping (well above the top of the key) because it obviously wasn't working.  I told him to drive the basket.  I told him not to be afraid to take a shot.  I watched him (finally) get a little more aggressive.  It didn't matter that the talent on the other team far outweighed ours.  I started focusing on my two.  C pulled down a rebound.  Yep, my shrimpy little dude pulled a rebound down amongst a group of dudes who were almost double his size.  Yes!  You go CamMan.

Then it happened.  A moment for us that I wish I had on video.  J was dribbling down the court.  He stopped at the three point line and took the shot.  Swish!  The whole crowd went nuts.  Three points!  The other team and their fans were cheering for us, too.  In our previous three games we scored two, one and one respectively.  Those were all free throws.  Today we scored a total of six points.  Only one of those was a free throw.  J and another teammate scored our first actual baskets of the season.  It was awesome!  Our little guys got spanked by the other team.  But you wouldn't have guessed it.  They were all floating on a cloud.  The celebrations and high-fives were plenty.

We won't win them all.  We're not going to win at all.  And that's okay.  Our little guys played with heart.  They can hold their heads high.

Today was a good day.

I hate wearing a bra.

Sorry any dudes who happen to be here.  But it has to be said.  I hate wearing a bra.  But it's a necessity.  If I were in a household of just girls, it would be different.  But in a house full of dudes who all seem to notice boobies, I have to.  And it's not fair.  And I'm whining again.  But geez, this underwire is of the devil.  For real, y'all.

I didn't do it.

I didn't run away today.  I wanted to.  I thought about it.  But I didn't do it.

I did a re-grouping.  Of sorts.  I took a friend's advice regarding how to help get my oldest son more organized with school.  Here's hoping the plastic accordion file works better for him. Next week we're  doing a joint teacher conference.  I keep channeling Shannon on this.  I would give anything to be able to run this stuff past her.  She was a tireless advocate and voice for her boys.  I could really use her help.  I miss her crazy much.  

Anyway, just wanted you to know that I'm still here.  I'm not typing this from the deck of a cruise ship or anything.  I'm lying next to a snoring husband and I've got two kitties on my bed.  I guess paradise will just have to wait.

Xanadu Awaits

I need to get a passport.  That way, when I decide to run away for real, I can go somewhere good and get totally lost.  I will go where homework doesn't exist.  I will go where the children I encounter appreciate me.  I will never receive e-mails from teachers.  I wouldn't have to ever clean up dog poop or cat barf.  Someone will do laundry for me.

I'm leaning towards someplace tropical.  With no cell or internet service.

Homework

I don't always complain about my kids' homework. But when I do...  Just kidding.  I always complain.  Because it sucks balls.  We've been going non-stop since after school.  And my oldest still isn't done.  He's slow as Christmas and doesn't understand.  His ADD meds are way out of his system and the kid  is d.o.n.e.  So are my nerves.  This mama is very ready for summer vacation.  Bring on the swimming pool and healthy amounts of vitamin D.

Timmy

In a moment of sheer insanity on December 15, 2014, we got a puppy for the kids.  Puppies are a lot of work.  No joke.  It's been a wild ride.  Most days I love the little dude so much.  Other days, uh, yeah.  He has been known to raid the litter box and eat the cats' poop.  He also eats his own poop.  The other day, he ate cat barf.  He chews on EVERTHING and has been a booger to house break.  The cats think he's the devil. They hate his very life.  They hide in mine and Mr. B's bedroom behind the security of a baby gate.  They seldom leave our room.  

I'll probably talk about him a lot.  So I feel like an introduction is in order.  Meet Timmy.

Yes.  He's freaking adorable.  He is one half Dachshund and one half Shih Tzu.  I've heard them referred to as Schweenies.  He has grown quite a bit since this picture was taken. He turned three months old yesterday. 

His full name is Little Timmy Duncan.  He was named after our favorite San Antonio Spurs player.  We also refer to him as Poops McBrownly and Turd Ferguson.

So yeah.  We have a dog. Serenity now. (Insanity later.)

School Projects

I understand the idea behind school projects.  Done independently, by self starter students, with zero parent involvement.  They can be a wonderful educational opportunity.  With that said, I can't help but wonder, sometimes, if it's just a way for teachers to get the last laugh.

I've seen pictures on the interwebs.  You can't, in all honesty, tell me that Little Johnny did that perfectly executed experiment and flawless presentation on his own. I just don't believe you. Can it happen? Sure.  Is it likely? No.  How do I know? I have kids.  I know the quality of their work. I know that there are eleventy billion other things that they'd rather do.  I totally get that.  Why line stuff up evenly on a tri-fold when there are better things to do?  My kids don't care how much excess glue oozes out from under some grammatically incorrect printed out report slapped on the poster. 

What sucks is that *I* care.  I don't want to do it for them. But I do want it to look nice.  This is where the problem begins and why I am insanely tempted to turn in something like this brilliant child.

Can I get an amen?  I bow to this kid's awesomeness.  This is the truth.  The cold, hard truth. And if I were a judge in this fair - - this project would get my vote and freaking win.  

Tomorrow we are to turn in "our" idea for a science project.  Awesome.  As parents we have to sign off on our son's choice. Why? Because we have to help him.  In fact, he told me that he is required to do at least 80% of it on his own.  I can do that level math.  And I know what that means.  When he told me that, I wanted to hunt down my degree from college, make a copy of it and staple it to his shirt.  I've done plenty of this crap already.  But - - it's part of the parent job.  I get it.

Nobody tells you when you have kids that this kind of nonsense is in your future.  It should be in the non-existent baby manual they give you when your child is born.  What to expect?  Pshhhhh.  Expect that homework is going to suck.  And the fact that it's going to freaking start in kindergarten.  That's a fact, Jack.

So for the next month, we will be growing mold around here.  And we will be testing the effects of various levels of bleach on said mold.  Not too bad.  Right?  Not until we start compiling data and putting it on a display poster.  It should be a real hoot.  I can hardly contain my excitement.  Yay for science.  Yippee!

UPDATE:

We didn't go with mold.  Instead, we will be experimenting with the effects of various liquids on our teeth via calcium tablets.  Actually sounds interesting.

Crickets Chirping

Ummmmmm.  I'm sorry?  I keep thinking, every time, that I'll actually commit to writing here again.  So much to say.  I'm not afraid to say it.  I just don't.  Silly me.  I'll give it another whirl. I'll catch you up in another post.  To do so in this post seems lame and disingenuous.  (Oh my gosh.  I spelled that right the first time without spell check.  Oh yeah!)

Here's to - - tomorrow...

We moved!

We did it.  We moved.  We closed on our new house almost three weeks ago.  We moved in a week ago today.

Oh.  My.  Goodness..

Moving sucks.  Big time.  Don't get me wrong.  I LOVE our new home.  Love it.  I'd love it even more if the remodel stuff was done.  We ran into a few extra "snags" just before our move in.  (I know of a tile company in this town who should be sued.  Big time.  Who doesn't put a vapor barrier in a tiled shower?  For real.) The short version is this:  we have one operation toilet and one operational shower.  The half bath toilet and sink are where my fridge goes in my kitchen.  Our old fridge is in our laundry room.  It belongs there.  But we had to bust a door frame out to get it in there.  I'm not even kidding.

So - - we have concrete floors, waiting for tile, in both bathrooms, our kitchen and in what will be Mr. B's office.  All of the floor tile is busted up.  But cleaning up from busted up tile is nearly impossible.  It tracks everywhere.  Our living room has beautiful wood flooring that has both human and cat tracks on it.  So pretty.

We'll get there.  Mr. B is a home reno machine.

The youngest is at pre-teen camp this week and the oldest is at Mamaw camp.  Why am I not in bed snuggling with Mr. B?  He's snoring already.  That's why.

I had to check in.  I didn't want y'all to think I'd bailed already.  I'm here.  I'll be back.  Consider yourself warned.

Smooches.