He loves me, but...

There is nothing like the little kid climbing in bed with me in the morning for some cuddles.

This morning he slipped under my blanket and wrapped his arms around my neck. "Mom. Mommy. You 'wake?"

"Mmmmm..."

"You the most byootiful mommy. I'm always gon to stay with you."

"That is sweet, bud."

"I always gon hug and kiss you. I always gon love you."

Now I am good and awake. "I love you, too, baby boy."

"Mom. Never mind. You need to brush your teeth."

Fickle little brat.

Random Sundayisms

...and I think I shall speak of myself in Third Person, 'cause I am just feelin' sassy (obnoxious) today.

Tracy thinks:

1) ...that in her next life, she wants to be a cat. Not some random scagged out stray, but a pampered puss. The fatter they get, the cuter they get, and they do a lot of resting in the sun. Attitude is expected and tolerated. You also have help that brings you food and keeps your "bathroom" clean. Downside is that you lick yourself to bathe, but the tradeoff seems minor.

2) ...that a screening of "Fatal Attraction" should be required for any man applying for a marriage license. Just watched it again, and that is one scary bitch.

3) ...that it is damn funny when the four year old accidentally says something racy. Case in point, yesterday he exclaimed, "Now, where is that hooker?" while trying to find the latch hook-thingie on his bicycle helmet.

4) ...that she can do laundry all fah-reaking day long, and there is always something in the hamper to wash. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? It is like some sort of evil magic trickery.

5) ...that Junior High drama doesn't necessarily stay in Junior High. As some men seem to not mature past about 12 years old, neither do many women, I am finding.

6) ... that she loves her Kindle. And this confirms Book Nerdiness. And this is okay with her.

7) ... that people who leave the "t" sound out in words like "Martin" should be slapped. Hard. Same goes for those who insist on using the word "conversate".

8) ... that Red Bird candy sticks just might be the world's most perfect food. And that Jonathan Rhys-Meyers might also be the same.

9) ... that super-gluing the toilet seat in the down position is looking better and better every day.

10) ...that these would be perfect t-shirts to get Dave for Baby-Daddy Day. Only I would be afraid he would actually wear them.

And finally...

11) ... the oil gusher that is driving shrimp and crab prices up may cause us to cancel the 3rd Annual H Shrimp and Crab Feast. This will also cause cancellation of my annual drunken jackass picture that I take of me and Dave. But, but, but...it's TRADITION!

Because you know you want to see more of this.

Adventures in swimsuiting...

...or "How Not To Spend Your 41st Birthday".

Turning 41 is sort of like stubbing your toe. It is not tragic, like say, turning 40, but does make you want to yell out, "GAH! Son of a.....ugh....mother f....." You know, like when you kick the corner of your dresser in the night when you get up to pee in the dark. Hurts, but not life-altering.

So, what to do on your forty-first birthday?


First off, I annoyingly insisted to everyone that I was changing my name to "Tracy QuatroUno" for the day, and they must refer to me as such.


Now what? Hmmm.....mani, pedi, maybe a massage...? Oh, I KNOW!


Get a mammogram and then go try on swimsuits. Yesssssssssssss! *fistpump*


Or at least that is what I did. I mean, you can do something dull and boring like go to dinner, have drinks with friends, or go out clubbing. *Yawn.*

The mammy was a follow up appointment on my right girl so it was only a one-sided boob squish. Still, not all that fun.


The real fun followed when I had the BRILLIANT idea to go try on bathing suits. Oh, frolic and joy.


Let me say that the bikini days are probably over. Yeah, that. Just leave out the "probably". So I moved on to trying on one-piece ensembles. Sort of eeeeasing myself into the old lady one piece Hawaiian-print swimdress look.

The first one I tried was a cute little purple number:

And hell to the no, I am not posting a picture of myself in above-referenced suit. Suffice it to say, I looked somewhat like this:

After trying on a few (and throwing each one to the floor in disgust in toddler-tantrum fashion 'cause I can be really mature that way), I finally decided on a tankini. Yes, I am aware that horizontal stripes are pretty much a no-no, but this was a suit I didn't hate/want to shred/pour lighter fluid on/dance around fire, chanting, "I win, I win, I win!"

Maybe I ought to just join one of those religions where they only wear "modest" swimsuits.

Club Bebe

Apparently, there's a party goin' on up in hurr.

A new sign appeared on the boys' door this morning...

What do you mean you can't read it? Come on now, it is clear as mud. Let me help here.

This is apparently the entrance to "Club Deth" and if you are smart, you will heed the "Do Not Enter" warning, complete with several skulls and crossbones. Watch out, too, 'cause this joint is "gardid". Probably by a couple of sawed off "gards".

To which, I said, "Um, Hunter, say what?"

And he tells me, "Mom, it is not really a club of deth. That is just to scare off people we don't want in our room."

(Duh.)

"...and if someone wants to come in, they have to sign in on the paper. If we don't want them in there, we will just cross them off."

You will note that both Hunter's and Chase's names are at the top. Well, being owners and "gards" and all...

And my name is labeled "VIP" at the top left corner. (PS, Mom, really, you should have just spelled my name with an "e" in it ferpete'ssake. My 5 year old even thinks that is how it is spelled.)

So far, sadly, Dad has not made the cut.

I think they just let me in for the laundry and nightly turn down service. You don't want to piss off the help, after all.

My blog's carbon footprint? Really?

It never occurred to me that my blog could have a carbon footprint. But I got this email from a cool group and thought I would share it... Here are some excerpts:

I am part of a young team in Germany, working for an initiative called "Make it green!". Our goal is to contribute our part in reducing the carbon footprint by raising awareness of the severe environmental damage caused by carbon emissions . One of our activities is to raise awareness of the carbon emissions resulting from the use of the internet - specifically of blogs. A blog with 15,000 visits a month has a yearly carbon dioxide emissions of 8 lb.

(OK, I can only dream of 15,000 visits a month, but wowza. That is a staggering amount.)

How do we actually neutralize your blog's carbon footprint? We are planting trees in cooperation with the Arbor Day Foundation in Plumas National Forest in Northern California for our project to neutralize the carbon footprint of blogs. Thousands of wildfires burned down many national forests over the past ten years and 88.000 acres of Plumas' were destroyed by two fires in 2007. To help replanting we need the support of bloggers all over the world! For every participating blog we plant a tree. One blog - one tree.

So here is my post, and there is my new coolio button in that column over "thar" >>>>>>>

Scroll down....down...a little farther. Yep. That one.

I am totally a tree-huggin' mama, so plant a tree for me, my new German friends!

Danke schön !

Chase-isms

This morning while checking out the box of dinosaur fruit chews, the littlest kid tells me, "You know, dinosaurs are in-stinkt."

(Proud mom...) "That is right, buddy. Very good."

Wow, it actually sunk in when we talked about extinction! Score one for awesome me!

"And what does that mean?"

"It means you have to run from them because they smell bad."

Yeah. We may need to work on that some more.

So, maybe singing will be his forte.

Just heard him playing on the computer, singing songs along with some music on Sprout. He's got the B-I-N-G-O song. (Go, little kid, go!)

Now...Row, Row, Row your boat... And I hear...

"Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary...life is down the drain!"

There's always hope for a football scholarship I suppose.

Good Choices and Destruction

Ah, winter... Time for snow, cold, cabin fever, and hijinks.

My kids are officially stir crazy and getting into everything. Thereby making me stir crazy as well.

Remember way back...when I wrote about Destructo Baby? Well, leave him to his own devices, and he now has become Destructo Kid. Today I discovered a lovely smiley-faced stick figure kicking a ball drawn on the top of my leather-covered coffee table. When confronted with said picture, he made a grimace like "whoops" and said, "But I did it on purpose and I am sorry."

Um, say what?

Witness one of our laptop keyboards.

And this is after I had replaced the "s" key which he had removed and oh-so-slyly replaced. Only backward. The kid has no game.

Asked about this, you get the same response. I guess he should get some points for honesty. Then again, when asked who ate all of the whipped cream out of the fridge this morning, I was informed that we have a ghost in the house. And that is who did it, darn him.

The middle kid is also looking at creative ways to send me to the loony bin. This week, it is all about making bad choices and good choices. His bad choices take him off of the computer for the day (oh, the horror!) to which I am informed that I am no longer his "very best favorite friend." So, the future lawyer (or con artist, not sure which...) has proposed a little compromise. Ok, he will take the bump off of the computer, but maybe not for the whole day. Maybe if he makes good choices, then he can earn the privilege back? Hmmm... Sounded good to me, and I admired his problem-solving skills and initiative.

Until he then immediately started walking around the house, looking around, and saying things like this...

"Um, Mom, I was going to give the cat a haircut and then I thought I had better not. I made a good choice, right?"

"Yeah..."

(Pauses, walks, looks around...)

"Mom, I was going to give you a Karate chop, and then I stopped. I made a good choice, right?"

"Ummmm, well, yes, but..."

"Mom, you are the best mom from here to the moon. I told you that when I thought it, so that was a good choice, right?"

(Me, the dim bulb, figuring it out...) "Yes, and thank you, I love you, too, but that isn't how this works. This ain't my first rodeo, cowboy."

Deviant little turds. Gotta love 'em.