Tales of A Girl Scout Drop Out

My daughter is a Girl Scout this year. 

There are multiple problems with this.

First, I am a Girl Scout drop out.  I quit the girl scouts in the 4th grade when I realized that the boys were camping in tents, and we girls had to use cabins.  I was filled with injustice!  (Apparently I was a little feminist in the making.)  Today,  I would take a cabin EVERY TIME.

Secondly, I have already "forgotten" to pick her up after her girl scouts' meeting.  I thought hubs was getting her.  He thought I was.  There sat Abs.  Not a good day in the mommy chronicles, I tell you.  Not. A. Good. Day.

And finally, the last and worst problem with Ab being a Girl Scout are these.

Yes.

Ab is selling Girl Scout Cookies.

Heaven help me . . . and my thighs.



In honor of this momentous occasion . . . I give you this repost from last year's girl scout season, when the devil itself did not reside within my own house.

Enjoy!
**********************************************************

Dear Girl Scout,


I have you figured out!

You dress in your adorable uniform, you approach me with your smiling toothless grin, and you know.

You know.

Yes, you know very well that I will be unable to resist your little girl charms. I will inevitably buy a box or seven, just because you are cute. Forget about the fact that the Thin Mints are delish, and the Samoas taste di-vine crumbled up on vanilla ice cream. When you approach me with that box of cookies, and ask for my help, I will be transported back to when I was a girl scout (before I quit because they wouldn't let me tent camp like the boys). I will remember how hard it was for me to approach an adult and hock my baked goods. And when that memory comes rushing back, I am a goner.

And you know it.

You can smell the sale like a dog can smell fear.

I am but a victim in your entrepreneurial endeavors, and frankly, I may as well just set up a direct deposit into your cookie bank account.

I am that much of a lock.

So, please forgive me if I advert my eyes from your eager gaze. And, please don't take offense when I close the curtains and hide in the dark as you ring my bell. I am doing it for my own good.

And while you may not thank me for it, my ass will.

Sincerely,
A drop out scout,

Annie

This Chunk is For You!

I don't do resolutions.

Never have.

It is not that I have anything against resolutions.  It is just that I know me.  If I make a broad, sweeping,  statement about what I want to do,   I just know that I won't do it.

Case in point,  if I resolved at 12:01 am on January 1st to eat healthier in the upcoming year, that resolution would be shot to hell when  at 8 am that next morning I turn on two wheels into the Krispy Kreme parking lot because the Hot Now sign is flashing.

google images

Sad, but true.

I operate better with smaller, concrete goals.  Something that I can write down.  Something along the lines of . . . I will buy at least three vegetables at the grocery store on the next trip.

Ignore the fact that I probably will not eat all of those veggies.  Just saying.

So, even though I want to run a half marathon, (I know.  I know.  I have been checked.  I am not crazy.) I will not resolve to run a marathon.  Instead, I downloaded a training schedule and I transferred the training numbers to my calendar. Instead of a marathon looming over my head, I now know that on such and such a day I have to run three miles, and when I accomplish that I will look ahead to my next small goal.

I am just chunking it up a bit.

And . . . it is good. 




google images



Think Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey.  Holy Yum!

lauraknauth.com

Or Chunk from the Goonies.  Too Cute!!





spanalaskasales.com



Or chunky peanut butter . . . ummmm, hello?  Delish!

So, 2011 is my year of the chunk.

Here's to being chunky!

I am linking to Mama Kat and her Writer's Workshop.  Hop on over there and check out some more fun resolving posts.

Falling for Fall

10 Reasons Why I Love Fall

1.  I am married to a football coach.  It's kind of required to love fall.

2.  Cheerleaders! (Mine specifically, just in case you were thinking of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.)

3.  Waterboys!  (Not Adam Sandler . . . but just as funny. )

4.  Sweatshirts   that can cover a multitude of wobbly and jiggly parts.

5.  Fall food . . . including but not limited to  . . .  pumpkin bread,  pot roast in the crock pot simmering all day, football snacks  (Walking taco?  Hello, yum!),  buffalo chicken dip, homemade potato soup, and well, the list could go on and on.

6.  Apple picking at the orchard.  (Wasn't El so cute last year? Yikes!  She is growing so quickly!)

7.  Dressing up for Halloween.  (Last year hubs was the Pope and I was a genie. One year when I was pregnant, I went as a basketball hoop and my belly was the ball.  That year hubs was a hemorrhoid, which was completely appropriate, because, let's face it, he CAN be a pain in the ass.)

8.  Sleeping with the windows open in a chilly room snuggled underneath my down comforter. . .  Bliss!

9.  Evenings by the fire with my family that include s'mores and family convos.

10.  Leaves changing colors.  Blue skies are the perfect backdrop to the yellows and reds and oranges the trees display at this time of year.

I fall for fall every year.

Linking to Mama Kat . . . and you should too! :)

Dinner Is (Soft) Served

It's vacation time.

And, when it's vacation time . . . some rules just go out the window.

Like the rule about finishing dinner BEFORE you eat dessert??

When it's vacation, sometimes dessert IS dinner.

After all, if you can't eat ice cream for dinner on vacation, when can you?

And yes . . .

my kids think I am a rock star mom.

Venting . . . Venting . . .

5 things that you could do to get on my S*** List . . .


1. Eat my chocolate. I have a stash of very good and very yummy dark chocolate. My stash is for emergencies only (read - pretty much every afternoon around 3 o clock), and if I go to my secret hiding place and find it empty . . . watch out! I will hunt you down and hurt you with my chocolate deprived self.

2. Wash my clothes without asking. I know. I know. On the surface, this sounds as if it would be a chore that I would love to have help with daily. And, I would. Love to have help that is. What I do not love is finding piles of clothing that have been washed by someone who shall remain nameless (hubs . . . I am talking to you!) that have items in them that are either not supposed to be washed in the washer or not supposed to be dried in the dryer. I am now down one cashmere sweater, and I am also now the proud owner of one shrunken, but still beautiful, spring blouse. Hubs . . . please do not help me anymore.

3. Wake me up from a sound sleep. Since becoming a mother 8 years ago, I have estimated that I have lost approximately 7,000 hours of sleep. I am seriously sleep deprived people. I daydream about when I can sleep. I crave it like I crave a BLT, and that is saying something since bacon is one of my favorite food groups. So, if you have a need to talk, don't call before 9 am or after 9 pm. I may not be asleep, but . . . I might be. Also, if you are having a nightmare, need water, or have the pukes . . . please stop by hubs side of the bed first. Just sayin'.

4. Drive on the road when you can't see over the steering wheel or remember who was president when you were born. Enough said.

5. Let your kid act like an idiot at the park. News flash: parents, when you take your child to the park, you still have to parent them. Putting your head in a book or texting on your blackberry do not count as parenting. If you choose not to parent, know that I will parent your child when they choose to throw sand, beat up kids younger than them, and/or use foul language. Also know, that if you choose to stick your head in the sand when it comes to your child's behavior, you will be on my list (as well as other parent's lists). We will be waiting for karma to bite you in the butt in a few years. Don't get mad when we laugh.



Thanks for letting me vent. I feel much better.

Go Fish Cappy

"Hi Mom!"

"Hey Hon. What's going on today?" my mom questioned.

Shoving a few more goldfish into my mouth, I answered, "Ummmmm," crunch, chew, crunch, "not much." I swallowed. "Just eating goldfish with El.

Mom quickly chimed in with, "Oh goldfish! I love goldfish!" I smiled through the phone, because, really, who doesn't love goldfish. ( Any snack that has a serving size of 55 pieces is OK by me.)


Before I could continue the conversation, Mom added, "Cappy loves goldfish too!"


And lest you think that Cappy is my dad, or a friend, or even the mailman, let me set you straight.


Cappy is a dog. My mom's dog for all of you newbies. A dog that is so ugly that he is cute. A dog that sleeps on my mom's bed pillow and has his own wardrobe.


Yes. That kind of dog.

And, my mother was not only feeding him people food (which she swears she does not do), she was comparing my human baby with her dog baby.

Aye. Yi! Yi!

It was beyond ridiculous.

"Mom," I used my calming voice (or at least I tried), "Are you seriously comparing Cappy to Ellerie?"

Silence.

"He. is. a. dog!" I stated slowly for effect. No matter. It fell on deaf ears.

"Annie! Do you know how expensive dog treats are? Goldfish are much more economical." She retorted.

And with that argument, I gave up. There is no way that I will ever convince my mom that Cappy is a dog.


And, after this post, I will probably have to buy "my brother" a bag of goldfish to make the peace.


****** To read more about my hate/hate realtionship with my mom's dog you can click one of the following.



Mom's Not in Kansas Anymore

Updates . . .

Understanding

An Open Letter to the Girl Scout

Dear Girl Scout,

I have you figured out!

You dress in your adorable uniform, you approach me with your smiling toothless grin, and you know.

You know.

Yes, you know very well that I will be unable to resist your little girl charms. I will inevitably buy a box or seven, just because you are cute. Forget about the fact that the Thin Mints are delish, and the Samoas taste di-vine crumbled up on vanilla ice cream. When you approach me with that box of cookies, and ask for my help, I will be transported back to when I was a girl scout (before I quit because they wouldn't let me tent camp like the boys). I will remember how hard it was for me to approach an adult and hock my baked goods. And when that memory comes rushing back, I am a goner.

And you know it.

You can smell the sale like a dog can smell fear.

I am but a victim in your entrepreneurial endeavors, and frankly, I may as well just set up a direct deposit into your cookie bank account.

I am that much of a lock.

So, please forgive me if I advert my eyes from your eager gaze. And, please don't take offense when I close the curtains and hide in the dark as you ring my bell. I am doing it for my own good.

And while you may not thank me for it, my ass will.

Sincerely,
A drop out scout,
Annie

Post It 1/19

I just baked cookies on a pan I used for garlic bread last night.

Yuck.

Garlic cookies.

I have reached a new cooking low point.

So, while I go gargle a bottle of Listerine, I will leave you with my short but sweet Post It Tuesday.  Hop on over to Supah Mommy and check out some more post its!

Snow Day Thoughts

It is 19 degree and snowing heavily outside.

The kiddies are watching a movie.

The washer and dryer are humming.

The house is cozy and warm.

Does anyone else out there feel like eating his or her weight in chips?

Or is it just me???