• We are leaving this house a week from today. I can’t wait. Bizarrely, I am looking forward to some sunshine. And maybe some t-shirt temperatures. It was 37 degrees when I got up the other morning. Thirty-seven degrees. I am tired of being cold.
I hate being hot too, though. So I will probably be whining about that soon.
• We have been sorting through all of our crap in anticipation of dumping about 30% of it into storage when we pass through Colorado in June. I CANNOT WAIT to unload some of this stuff.
(if anyone unfamiliar with our crazy lifestyle, a recap: We sold our house and all our stuff and
have been willfully homeless for 6 months are now traveling the country with our kids. Super! Homeschooling! Is! Happening! We have all our essentials in a 4×8 cargo trailer that we pull behind our SUV. When we were packing the trailer, I forgot you could buy crayons and shampoo in other parts of the country.)
• I have lost a bra in every house we have stayed in. And two in this house. It’s bothering me. Firstly because I can’t afford it, and secondly because I keep imagining the look on the face of the poor unfortunate soul who finds one of them. I’m not a Victoria’s Secret shopper, y’all. I’m more of the Industrial Strength With Heavy-Duty Elastic Brassiere that Comes in a Box shopper.
It’s not a titillating experience to find one, is what I’m saying.
Plus also it’s the comfortable ones that seem to go missing, which is a whole ‘nother problem.
• The other night, Big was carrying on about how bad his nasty foot-wart was hurting. He eventually goes, “mom, I just don’t think you understand the pain!” Finally, I rolled my eyes and said, “Listen up, little boy – I pushed you out of my hoo-ha, I think I know what pain is.”
And then I scarred everyone within a 2-child radius.
So there you go. Now you can all feel better about your parenting.
(I didn’t say hoo-ha. I don’t remember what I said. Some insipid, juvenile euphemism, probably; that manages to be more offensive than the real word)
• Also last night, in a fit of being fed-up with Big’s attitude of never wanting to dismantle any of his Lego creations, and stealing his sister’s legos when he needed something; I went in his Lego bucket after he was in bed and took apart a bunch of stuff that just looked like Lego lumps.
Perhaps you can see where this is going.
My son, who cannot find a pair of underpants in a drawer that houses ONLY underpants, apparently possesses some kind of freakish photographic memory catalog of all his Legos.
Hysteria ensued at 9 am this morning.
I guess I took apart his helicopter carrier truck and trailer; which I was eventually able to identify as the blue and orange lump of Legos.
Happily, I compulsively keep all the directions to the Lego sets and was able to spend THREE HOURS on the floor being his assistant as he recreated it.
“MOM. Not a jumper plate, a side brick!”
“MOM. That’s not a clip, that’s a brick with a vertical bar!”
“MOM. I need light gray, not dark gray.”
Whatever, little dude. Just show me the picture. And quit sassing me.
My ass hurts now. I am too old to be sitting on the floor all morning.
There. Now don’t you feel better?
• Happy Monday, y’all.