Well Suited?

Today I purchased our pool membership for the summer. This, of course, is bittersweet.



Why, you ask?



Well, obviously, the anticipation of sun and fun and cool, refreshing water is positive. This former Florida girl loves to soak up the rays sitting poolside. Not to mention the fact that swimming kiddies = tired kiddies. Dog tired! What's not to be happy about that?



But the thought of getting this winter, sun-deprived body into a bathing suit . . . well, that leaves something to be desired, if you know what I mean.



And, if you are female, you know what I mean.



Truthfully, if you even live with a female, you probably know what I mean.



So, in honor of the fact that bathing-suit season is quickly approaching(Try not to hyperventilate!), I have the following repost for your pleasure.

Enjoy!

Suit Woes . . .originally posted 2/16/09

I am dreading this afternoon.


You see, in anticipation of my Florida adventure this week, I have to do the inevitable.
I have to bathing suit shop.


There was a time in my life where I actually enjoyed suit shopping. A time when gravity was still my friend. A time when my boobs were high and my weight was low, and the sun would kiss my skin the color of caramel. In those days, suit shopping was easy. One piece? Two pieces? Black? Blue? Red? It really didn't matter. They all looked good.


Now, there are so many considerations to take into effect when suit shopping.


First and foremost is material. Not just the quality of the the suit material, but also the quantity. In my younger days, my suits probably resembled little more than a handkerchief and some dental floss. How I ever even got out of the house as a teenager was probably a veritable miracle or the fact that my dad is actually legally blind. Take your pick. Anyway, dental floss just does not cut it when attempting to hold up boobs that have gained and lost 50 pounds with each of 3 different pregnancies. Something resembling a harness is needed to hold these old girls up. Cute little bows and simple ties can not and will not defy gravity anymore. Instead, I need something with at least five hooks in the back, something that has material thick enough to hide over aged titty hard-ons and something with material generous enough to cover the road map of veins that hide just under the girls' surface. The overall effect can be not pretty, my friends. Not pretty.


I also think that a good suit needs some properties of deception. Clearly, a good suit needs to effectively disguise any stretch marks, camouflage any cottage cheese, and use effective smoke and a few fun house mirrors. This is all in the hopes that you notice my fabulous smile, and not my fabulously drooping ass. Really, when it all comes down to it, the average woman would love a suit that acted more as a costume, giving her the body of say, Jennifer Anniston (a beautiful 40 year old) while still retaining her own head and face. Obviously, this miracle would take true magic. (And if I were the Jantzen bathing suit company, I would take notice and try to hire Penn and Teller for some product development. Just sayin' .)


Finally, when shopping a woman has to consider something that most completely forget about . . . lighting. Inevitably, department store lighting makes a woman's skin look an odd shade of green. So if the actual suit has not scared the lady sober, the sight of her hibernating winter skin will. Now, if a woman is already tan, this greenish effect is not as noticeable, but if she has been indoors for say,I don't know, MONTHS and her skin has been deprived of Vitamin D, it is not a pretty picture. That is why it is necessary to either fake bake (which I don't recommend after a few college friends forgot to remove the sanitizing strip on the bed and consequently had "This bed has been sanitized by . . ." tattooed across their backs.) or use self tanner. I say self tanner, because frankly, I prefer a shade of orange skin over a shade of green skin any day.


So, with these things in mind, I arm myself for the bathing suit battle.


Wish me luck. I'm going in.

The Ties That Bind

**********I am linking up to Travis' Memoir Monday! Go check him out. Bring your depends. You will usually need them. :)




My hubby thinks that I am trying to kill him.

Yesterday, since I officially have no sink and no dishwasher because of our never-ending kitchen remodel, I decided to break out the old crockpot in order to cook dinner for the family.

I'm good like that sometimes.

So, I popped a pork loin in the crock, threw in some spices, and turned it on low. Several hours later yummy smells started wafting from the pot. I have to admit, I felt pretty good about myself. No sink. No counters. No problem. My family was still going to have a good meal.

Fast forward to dinner. After hubby finished off his second helping, he gave me a perplexed look.

"Honey?" he questioned.

Still patting myself on the back for the good meal, I answered, "What?"

"Is it possible that I just ate string?" he posed fearfully.

"String?"

"Yes. String. I think I ate string. It looked a little like the pulled pork so I just ate it."

And then I remembered. I had cut the string on the pork loin, but I had not removed it from the pot.

Yes. Hubs ate string. And while I should have been concerned and apologetic, I wasn't.

Instead, my shoulders began to shake with my uncontrollable laughter. I couldn't even stop laughing long enough to acknowledge the fact to hubs that yes, he did eat string.

After I calmed down, hubs asked sheepishly, "Will it be OK?"

"Will what be OK? " I asked still giggling.

"You know . . . the string? Will it come out OK?" he questioned, concerned.

And, I know that I should have responded with care and concern, but, I didn't.

Instead, the laughter rolled out of me.

Later, I assured him that he would indeed poop out the string, but he eyed me warily, unconvinced.


So, I am pretty sure that he thinks that I was trying to kill him. . . or at least interfere with his daily visit to the throne.

I wonder . . . should I keep stringing him along?

(Ha! I couldn't resist!)

Out of the Closet

When I opened my hall closet on Wednesday morning, I literally took my life in my hands. The board games that were stacked precariously on top of each other finally gave way as the door opened, and they quickly slid off of one another, nearly decapitating me in the process. Clearly it was time to clean out the closet.

(Like how I picked up on that so quickly?)

Anyway, after much grunting and groaning and back and forth trips carrying coats, shoes, game, game pieces and the like, my closet looked like this. . .

And my living room floor looked like this. . .

Not pretty, my friends. Not pretty at all.

Obviously, I had to do something. I couldn't just reload all of my crap back into that ugly closet now, could I? So, I did the only thing I could. I gloved up and scrubbed that closet. I bleached and Chloroxed and magic erased until I was feeling quite happy from the fumes, and guess what?

My closet still looked like this . . .

Still. Not. Pretty.

Being the resourceful gal that I am, I scratched my head, thought a moment, and then came up with a plan. First, I ripped out that old carpet. The floors were in great shape underneath. Then, I found some leftover paint from other projects through the years. The colors weren't what I was envisioning, so I just mixed them together and Voila! A pretty color for free! ( And, you know how I love free! I love free more than bacon, and that is saying something. Seriously.) After some cutting in and painting, my closet looked like this . . .

It's a lovely shade of blue (although it is hard to tell from this picture). Much better! But, not quite there yet. Remember, I still had to figure out a place for all of this.

I remembered that Target (or Tar-jay Boutique in my vernacular) had organizers on sale this week, and I decided to invest in one to help with the closet clutter. While at Target, I bought an eight cubicle organizer, 4 blue bins, one polka dot bin (Ummm, yeah. I couldn't resist. Those dots just spoke to me. Soooo fun!), and two see through bins. My total was around, gulp, $77.00, but I think the result was worth it.

My closet is sooooo pretty! I think that I wouldn't even mind a mommy time out there, you know?

What do you think?

It Couldn't Get Any Worse, Could It?

I've had a rough couple of days.

Just since Friday of last week, the following have occurred :

1. I have inadvertently sent an email to the school secretary about my husband's butt. (See Lingering a Little Longer and you will know what I mean.)

2. I have sent Ethan to his T-ball pictures with his baseball pants on backwards. Yes. I did. You would think that I didn't even look at the kid before we left the house, and you would be right. The word Wilson written on his back pocket was blazoned just to the right of his belly button, and his reinforced shin pads were on his calves. At least we will have photographic evidence. That, and we provided many, many parents a hearty laugh.

3. While driving, I leaned my forearm on the steering wheel at a stoplight. This caused me to accidentally beep my horn. Not too terribly embarrassing, you say. Well, take note. There was a police car in front of me.

4. While leaning over to help Ellerie use the potty at the park, my favorite sunglasses fell off my head and into the public toilet (YUCK!) and through El's stream of pee (DOUBLE EWWW!). After a few choice uses of vocabulary, I fished the glasses out of the throne, washed them off in the sink with soap and water and then wrapped them in a paper towel. Take heart you fellow germ-a-phobes. Later, at home, I disinfected them, thoroughly.

5. I have watched helplessly as Ellerie took bouncy handballs from a store display, and threw them systematically down the aisle at the store while I was held up checking out at the register. By the time I got to her, she was laughing hysterically and clapping her hands together while hundreds of balls bounced merrily around her. It took me, Ethan, and 3 sales people to retrieve all of the balls amid many scowls (from them) and many apologies (from me).

6. I have watched as Ellerie spilled her purple grape juice on the carpet and then remarked, "Shit!" Probably a word that she heard from the incident number 4 listed above.

7. I have sent Ab to school on spring picture day with bed head, a stained shirt and a slightly too short pair of pants.

And . . . that's all I can remember for now, but really, aren't these enough?

Lingering a Little Longer

There are moments when I am sure that hubby has considered killing me.

Yesterday was one of them.

Let me set the scene . . .

Ethan is 5 and will be starting kindergarten this fall. In order to do that, he needs to go through kindergarten screening, and I need to make him an appointment to do so. Since my husband is a teacher and coach and works in the school system, the secretary at the kindergarten school sent hubs a friendly reminder emailq.

He replied to her, "Thanks for the reminder. Annie will make the appointment today."
He copied me on the email to give me a heads up.

So far. So good.

I received the email, and I fired back a reply.

Honey-
I already made the appointment when I read your email.
By the way, it is 8:50, you left an hour ago, and the bathroom STILL STINKS. That is sooooo wrong.
Do you want to have a date tonight?
Love, Annie

I think he may have chuckled a bit at my email, because you know, men like anything that has to do with poop or other gross bodily functions. He may have even been a bit proud of the fact that he polluted a room for an entire 60 minutes. Or, he could have been distracted by the fact that I asked him out for a date. I really do not know what was going on in his mind.

But, I do know that he replied to my reply.

And, here is where it gets interesting.

Because I was not the original recipient of the email, and my address was only in the copy line, hubby's reply and my previous reply, not only came back to me . . . they also went to the lovely school secretary.

Yes.

That's right.

The secretary now knows that hubs has a potent and powerful stink ass.

And, now you do too.


I know.

I know.

Your welcome.

*****And side note to hubs . . . if you are already suffering from a little public embarrassment, I figure, what's a little more? -Smooches!

Atlas and the Bungee Cord

We are nearing the end of our DIY kitchen remodel.

Our last stage is to remove the sink base, the sink and the dishwasher in order to put in the new cabinets, sink and dishwasher. Hooray! But, being the practical people that we are . . . we are waiting until the last possible minute to remove the old fixtures and appliance.

Because once they are gone, we have to move quickly . . . or . . . survive without a sink.

Not fun.

Not fun at all!

That is why when hubs was working on the kitchen the other day, removing everything BUT the sink base and sink, I was aglow with kind words for his smart and calculated remodeling decisions.

That is, I was aglow until I heard him hollering for me at 10 pm after I was all snuggly in bed.

I stomped downstairs to find hubs, singlehandedly holding up the sinkbase and sink against the wall. Sort of like Atlas holding up the earth. Only not so chiseled . . . or poised. Apparently, these original cabinets were not, in fact, affixed to the wall, so when hubs removed some of the other side cabinets and countertop, the sinkbase and sink, gave way.

Who knew?

All I knew was that the sight of him holding up the weight of those cabinets and sink and dishwasher was, in a word, hysterical, so, naturally . . . I burst out laughing.

He was not amused. ( I can't imagine why not?!)

And, that, my dear friends, is how I came to have a bungee cord holding up my sink.

No.

I am not kidding.

And, here's the proof.

Quite resourceful, aren't we?

And now, what creative uses have you come up with for a bungee cord?!

I Never Thought I Would . . .

Things that I never imagined that I would do . . until I had kids . . .

1. Sing "Pee Pee on the Pot - ty!" while dancing around to celebrate my child's urinary success.

2. The above . . . while in public.

3. Wear Dora the Explorer band-aids on my nipples to signify that my boobs were "broken" and no longer working and nursing boobs.

4. Accept (and eat) a half-licked sucker in order to avoid having it stuck in my toddler's hair, or worse, my own.

5. Change a poopy diaper in an airplane bathroom.

6. Squirt hand sanitizer on a sketchy looking table at a restaurant rather than take the chance of having one of my kids lick a dirty table and then come down with some hideous virus.

7. Pray (literally) that my kiddies don't get sick before the last set of puked on sheets gets clean in the washer and dryer.

8. Use a sanitary napkin as a makeshift diaper (because we had run out) while I high tailed it to the drugstore to replenish the supplies.

9. Defer a paticularly pointed question about the birds and the bees until my husband gets home so that he may serve as back up (or at least share in the humiliation with me).

10. Make up stories about how Santa doesn't deliver animals at Christmas for the sheer fact that I can not handle a dog and a toddler at the same time.

11. Watch the Disney channel.

12. Sing Hannah Montana songs.

13. Have Mama Mia as my ring tone.

14. Drive a minivan. (By the way, I still hate driving it, but it is sooooo darn practical.)

15. Forgo buying the latest cute shoes so that my kid can wear pants that are not up to his ankles.

16. Enjoy a Tball game.

17. Laugh until I pee my pants.

18. Eat ice cream in the middle of the day, just because.

19. Lay on the back deck and watch the clouds pass by over head and be perfectly content.

20. Say the words, "If I catch you picking your nose and eating it one more time . . ."


So, what have you done that you never thought that you would? Hmmm? Let me know that I am not alone in my craziness!