When Vacuums Attack

There it is, looking innocent enough. But heed my warning.....it is an accident waiting to happen. Just like owning a pit bull, you'll never know if it will return to it's natural fighting instincts, jaws meant for locking down on the enemy. This is my Dyson Animal vacuum, aka the Dyson Pit Bull.
It's not like it was neglected. I took it out for a venture every once in awhile. Keeping it on it's leash - when it happened. It turned on me. As I was adjusting the bottom of it, the handle dropped down on my foot. You know the thing you wrap the cord around? Hit me right on the top of my instep. This is the freak attack we all fear and this is how it left me maimed and swearing. Actually, I didn't swear at all but I rolled around on the floor wailing for awhile.

Later that day, my true colors shone through. Shades of purple, pink and blue. That was one week ago. Today, it is blue, green and the purple now spreads halfway down my toes. I now have two insteps on my left foot. I went to the doctor three days after the accident and it was a little bit broken. Just the tip is kind of chipped. He gave me a pretty shoe but after four days I quit wearing it. It Velcros across the top and made it ache all day.

Vacuums are not our friends. They are dangerous species waiting to turn on you. No matter how pretty they look - beware. Because of this attack, I cannot even look at another vacuum without shaking and crying. I now have suck-a-phobia.

Surprise Rosebuds

When I was in the bath the other day I was surprised to see.......rosebuds! Not those kind. If we were talking about those kind I would be mentioning the hanging baskets. A coworker gave us some nice homemade bath salts and I knew they had lavender buds in them, but not rosebuds.

Speaking of surprise rosebuds, Mimi once again reminded me that she needed a bra. She said, "Maybe you could take me and I could at least try some on. And then you could go back when I'm not with you and buy it, so they won't know it's for me."

I laugh, "Okay."

"So what size do you think I wear?" she asks.

"I don't know, maybe the same size as me," I say teasingly.

She looks at my chest, as if she hasn't seen it lately, and pulls her head back and says, "Nah uh."

So I guess I'll get one of those little halter thingies to help train her......rosebuds. Have you ever wondered why they call them training bras? What do you train them to do? Sit up pretty? Play dead? Dance? Mine only lay down.

When I Get Time

When I get time, I'm going to tell you all about my wonderful husband, who just had a birthday. And I'm going to post a picture of him. But it has to be perfect, so I haven't had the chance to do it yet.

When I get time, I'm going to tell you that I broke my foot by a freak vacuuming accident. I'll post pictures about that, too. And when I get time I'll tell you I hired a cute gal to clean my house, because it's way to risky for me.

Speaking of risks, when I get time I'm going to share my opinion about people who take risks and expect others to risk their lives to rescue them. Stupid, stupid, irresponsible people.

And when I get time, I'm going to tell you how one of my biggest peeves in life is death - well, when people say, "He died doing what he loved the most." How do you know he didn't really like living and he's really peeved that he did something so stupid and now he's dead? If I choke on cheesecake, please do not resuscitate. I'm just giving you permission now to let me die doing what I love the most.

And when I get time, I'll tell you that my dad just moved in with us and we weren't expecting him for another week and that's why I was vacuuming when it attacked me.

And when I get time, I'll post a picture of my hubby in a Speedo when we were dating because that was the style in Australia. And when I get time I'll tell you I could barely look at him in his Speedo because.....no time to explain that.

And when I get time, I'll tell you it's our 21st Anniversary this Sunday and tell you how he has become the perfect man and I'm so glad we've made it over some hurdles.

And when I get time, I'm going to read your blog from the very beginning so I know why your blog is named what it is, or just because I like to laugh for that long. And now that I have a broken foot, I can't go walking and I need my abs exercised.

And when I get time I'm going to tell you my opinion about how I thought slavery was banned a long time ago, but some people hiring illegal aliens for pittance didn't get that memo.

And when I get time, I'll show off some Photoshop skills I've been learning in school. Because I need my pictures to look perfect.

And when I get time, I'm actually going to write on my other blog and share pictures that need to be Photoshopped because they have faded.

And when I get time, I'm going to leave you the funniest, most awesome comment on your blog. Wait! There's always time for that! Even if I don't post, I can still visit you. I'm just a good friend like that.

Growing Up

My baby turned ten. I was really kind of sad about it on her birthday last Thursday. We spent the day together, shopping, getting her hair cut, getting party supplies, buying a "Build-a-Bear" knock-off. (It's the only thing close by.) Her two birthday parties stirred some other emotions, like homicidal tendencies.

We decided to have an "Alice in Wonderland" party and everyone was to wear a crazy hat. Nine crazy kids came to celebrate. Mimi went into show-off mode and it left me wondering how she had friends. Why do kids do that? They are like obnoxious drunks who can't do enough to try to get people to laugh.

Here's our "Tea Party." I actually found gummy mushrooms which I laid on the table for decorations. I searched high and low for these little bottles.

The kids watched "Alice in Wonderland" (the new one). They squeaked balloons until I almost went bizerk and ran in there like a mad woman, popping every balloon. I actually had a visual of this and imagined the looks on the kids' faces. I thought of the rumors; "Mimi's mom is just like the Mad Hatter." This is her cousin, Bryson. They are only a year apart.The day after her birthday, Mimi said, "We need to go to Wal-mart."

"What for?" I ask.

"I need a bra," she announces.

"No you don't," I said in a laugh.

"Yes, I do, too! You said as soon as my nipples start sticking out, that's when I need a bra!"

"I don't think you're nipples are sticking out," I said.

"Yes, even look!" she argued. Then she takes the neck of her T-shirt and stretches it over her chest to expose.....nothing. "See, it's starting to stick out." I'm telling you, it was smaller than a mosquito bite. Smaller than the zit on my forehead - which could definitely use a bra.

I could never imagine doing that in front of my mom. I think she just started buying me bras. I would have been embarrassed to attract any attention to that area of my body. Now, buying a bra is like buying shoes. The "Bra Fitting Specialist" goes in the dressing room to make sure it is adjusted right and the right size.

I went to a "specialty" store and after the lady came to check on me she turned and announced she would go get a bigger bra and announces my cup size loud enough for the entire little shop to hear. When I came out, ready for my purchase, my husband was sitting there with a smirk on his face. Then he says like a teenage boy in a locker room, "Bigger bra, huh?" He was so proud of my hard efforts of growing fat cells on my chest.

Desperate Parenting

I share this story, which I find humorous now, but oh so far away from humorous ten years ago. Young moms can learn from this, old experienced moms may applaud me. But I survived a son with behavioral problems. I'm not talking normal boy things, I'm talking about me and the principal having a close working relationship. Did I ever tell you about the time in second grade when he peed all over the other boys in the boys' bathroom? I, unfortunately, got to know all of Seth's elementary teachers.

I was the president of our children's program at our church and was holding a meeting at my house. We were planning away when Seth, fourth grade, made a huge scene. I'm talking my face was probably bright red, I was trying very hard not to kill him in front of four other women, he was screaming with his foghorn of a mouth about life not being fair and he's going to run away. I believe I told him he couldn't go outside until he cleaned up the landfill we called his bedroom. He went upstairs and packed his backpack, slamming the door as he left. It was one of those slams where you're amazed every picture didn't fall off the walls. To say the least, I was beside myself in anger. BUT......I had to remain socially respectable. Lucky for him.

When the meeting ended, I had calmed down quite a bit and decided to really dig into Seth. I made a sign and put it on our mailbox in very large letters. It said, "BOYS ROOM FOR RENT. MUST DO CHORES." A couple of neighbors called to find out if we were really renting out a room. (There goes the neighborhood!)

A couple of hours later, Seth returned, sign gone, and he said, "Sorry, Mom" and gave me a hug. Here we are ten years later and he still lives at home, usually has a messy room, still fights about mowing the lawn, doing dishes, etc. The thing is, he really can move out and we remind him of that sometimes. We parents need leveraging no matter what age our kids are.

Cheesecake Happens

Last night I had a dream that my son graduated and he was wearing a cap and gown. The thing was - he was graduating with a bunch of delinquents. I have no idea what meaning that dream has.

I got together with my BFF on Friday night while my husband went on a medieval camp with Mimi. No, I did not want to go and when Mimi called to tell me goodnight, she happened to mention there was no toilet and she would have to potty in the woods, that was an affirmation of my decision.

Karen and I ate at Rubio's where I had a sip of water that tasted like it was fresh from the toilet. Really. It was that bad. Try putting out a flaming mouth with that.

Thursday, I came home from work and our conversation went something like this:

Mimi: Why are you wearing a shirt under that shirt?

Me: 'Cause everyone would see my boobs if I didn't.

Mimi: You mean your crack?

Me: Yeah. It's actually called cleavage.

Mimi: Your crack is called cleavage?

Me: Yes.

Mimi: Your cleavage crack?

It reminds me of a time we were sitting in church, Mimi was about 2 1/2 years old. She was sitting on my lap facing me and it was dead quiet during our meeting. Next thing you know she pulls my scoop-necked T-shirt out and puts her head in and says loudly, "Mommy! You have a bum on your neck!" I handed her to Jared and didn't look up to see who saw that one.

I can't wait to explain what an anal cleft is, AKA gluteal cleft. Makes it sound so intelligently special. "Cover up your gluteal cleft." I guess that's what the thong was made for.

Thursday night I had school and Mimi wanted invitations to her birthday party to hand out the next day, which was the last day of school. So when I was telling my friend at work about her turning 10 on the 10th of June of 2010......I started crying. I didn't cry when my kids went to kindergarten, I thought they were so ready. But my baby turning 10? AND my other daughter is going to be a senior in high school this next school year. She's hoping to get a singing/theater scholarship and she said friends are talking about scholarships being better out of state. I told her she's not allowed to go out of state. I would have to move out of state with her and be her roommate.

You may notice I've put on a few pounds since my profile photo from last year. It happens fast and it sucks. I'll blame my birthday when everyone gave me cheesecake. So tonight after a girl's night with Karen, I ended it with reading all the blogs I'm following and had some cheesecake to drown my sorrows (two girls growing up).

Routines

Sometimes we do things without thinking about them. Sometimes we do them all the time and don't realize it......until we embarrass ourselves doing them.

My 17 year old daughter had a boyfriend. She said she broke up with him because she wants to be single during their senior year next year. He's so cute I told her I would just adopt him instead. They are still really good friends, in fact he was at our house tonight.

Usually when I come home from anywhere I walk through the garage door and run to the bathroom usually chanting urgently, "I needa pee pee!" Tonight I walked in and my hubby was waiting with his arms open waiting for a hug and I hand him the grocery bags except he didn't catch them so they landed on the ground and I squeal, "I gotta potty!"

He said, "Can't you give me a hug first?"

I start running down the hall shouting, "I have a turtle!" Well, you can imagine what that means. C'mon, doesn't every family have a code word? I usually only share that kind of information with my family. Except when I came back out, there was Ali's friend that is a boy, but not her boyfriend, sitting there in my living room. I didn't know he was here even though his car was parked out in our driveway. Also I walked out of my bedroom (after releasing the turtle into the sea) in my pajamas singing at the top of my lungs, "Tonight's gonna be a good, good night..." (Black-eyed Peas) and I notice him sitting there. I quickly fold my arms and stop singing and hide in the kitchen. Maybe that's the real reason they broke up.

The sad part about this little routine of running to the loo every time I come home (like Pavlov and his dog) is my nine year old has taken note. I came home and found my toilet lid down with a note on the lid, "Dear Mommy, I went to Lauren's house to play. Love, Mimi." I found another one today. At least she knows I'll find them.

Bloggers Galore!

Gobs of Blogs

There's blogs about family,

celebrities and friends,

Blogs can be short

and some never end.

Some can have causes

Some make you laugh

Some offer recipes

That leave you with gas.

Some are about babies,

vomit and poo

What I learned at CBC

is to just be YOU.

Wasn't that tender? Did you expect anything other than tender? Yes, I went to the Casual Bloggers Conference and it was GREAT! I just seem to be one of the ones who procrastinated blogging about it. If Fifi can blog after trying to immigrate to Mexico, I can blog after having my lovely headache that spanned the weekend. But this is not a whiney blog, so I won't whine. Except about this one thing at CBC:

Do you know what that is? No! It is not my MRI! It is a Tootsie Pop that I was totally ripped off with. You know how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? Too darn many when there is no Tootsie Roll in the center. If this was my MRI I'd have you know I have a lot of chocolate goodness inside my head.

Me and Lisa getting into the spirit of the night. See what happens when you have too much red food dye in Swedish Fish? Lisa is an awesome dancer!
I stole this picture from Serene. DeNae, Tauna, Serene and Crash. I have no idea what Crash's real name is. I'm sorry. But you can visit thier super fantabulous sites.
This is Alexes at One Cluttered Brain and Linda at See Mom Smile. They were so much fun. We had fun eating out almost every meal with Linda. So much fun - you should have been there! Start planning for next year. I'm glad to have met so many new friends!