What can I say? I makez pretty peoplez!
These pictures from our day at Lagoon-A-Beach have been sitting in a blank post for a while now (cuz my brain has been on freakin overload lately). They’re the perfect way to stick my tongue out at winter’s attempts to cut in line this year, don’t you think?
P.S. Ash may have a little pink on her thigh, but I’m the one who ended up fried to a crisp that day. Ah, memories!
Update – Winter’s tendrils have apparently have started to creep into my brain, cuz I completely forgot a title to this post. I channeled South Park and think I came up with a good one. Winter totally needs to heed that warning.
I attended two hour-long meetings that were a complete waste of time (but they were shorter than the hour AND A HALF that they were actually scheduled for, so there is that), talked to the secretary of an attorney who can’t seem to get it through her head that they ALREADY GOT THE DAMN CHECK (gotta love Payroll, right?), and got extremely frustrated with my problems getting on & viewing tweets (wonder if Brizzly is going to be blocked here at work soon too…..possibly and then I’ll REALLY be screwed).
I got a break, though, when I was talking to her about her about her day. We were getting ready to say goodbye, when all of a sudden, OUT OF THE BLUE, she says, “I love you.”
And it sucks bcuz I can’t tweet it.
I also follow another blog that Jenny’s involved with, Good Mom/Bad Mom. This one has some funny shit too, even if the Houston Chronicle tries to contain her awesomeness. You CANNOT contain The Bloggess! Anyway, while reading a recent post, a commenter (TC) provided this week’s gigglesnort:
Rock on Bloggess and all your awesome followers!
My daughter is no girlie-girl. She is definitely more of a tomboy. But I’m usually fairly successful in making a compromise with her so that she at least looks somewhat like a girl. Except with her hair. I can barely get her to comb her hair, let alone *do* anything with it. If she had her way, she would always wear a hat. But she doesn’t always get her way. I win on occasion, picking my battles carefully. I’m sorry, but I want to have *some* pictures/memories where I can say “There’s my beautiful little GIRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLL!”
So this morning the husband tells Ashley to get ready for school so that I can do her hair. And we get the bi-annual *tongue click-foot stomp-sigh-“Noooooo!”*. We’ll see/hear it again in the spring when it comes time for those pictures. Can’t wait. Her response always helps our mood *so* much and at that point we’re all GETREADYFORSCHOOLRIGHTNOW!
Have I told you that I’ve always wanted to be a motivational speaker? No? Well, that’s good, cuz I don’t.
After Ashley gets dressed, she comes in my bathroom. And it begins. I’m having a mental discussion with her hair begging it to help me find an appropriate style that won’t be too difficult to do. Ok, let’s see. I know…I’ll comb this part down. Yes. Wet it a little so it lays right. That’s good. Ashley, will you please stand up straight and stop tilting your head. Thank you. Now I’ll take this small part and wave it back. Hmmm… Maybe. Maybe if I put in a clip to hold it in place? Ye…no. That clip won’t hold. Ashley…PLEASE. *sigh* I don’t have another clip. The few small clips I have won’t match her outfit! WHY DON’T I HAVE ANY OTHER CLIPS? Oh, wait, I found one. Whew! Ok, so let me grab that piece again and wave it back. Slide in the clip. Crap! There’s a piece sticking up. Ok, take the clip back out. Comb it back down. Let’s try this again. Wave that piece back. And slide in the clip. Almost there. And check her wispy bangs. And ohmyfuckingGODAshley! Can you PLEASE just hold still for 5 minutes so I can make you look like you weren’t rolling around in the planter this morning?
These few and far between styling sessions ALWAYS end the same way. I’m pissed off and she’s in tears. Over hair. Seriously. Can I tell you how much I’m looking forward to puberty?
And so *I* end up late for work looking like the walking dead. Cuz after all that? I don’t give a flyingfartinspace what *I* look like today.
P.S. I’ll have to ask my Mom if she had to go through this crap with me on Picture Days. I’m thinking no, but that could be early dementia setting in (I have CRS – Can’t Remember Shit) or from the bender I (think I) was on last night.
This child, who regularly sends me to my *happy place*.
This child, who is not a mini me, but is a spot-on mini him (in personality more than anything).
This child, who couldn’t wait to get rid of me on her 1st day, even at a brand new school.
This child, who was FINALLY able to give us the details of her day at school without a single “I don’t know.”
This child, who was AMAZED at having more lunch choices at her new school (and actually had a salad on her 2nd day. WHO IS THIS GIRL?).
This child, who is growing up so fast. She truly is a superstar.
The sperm donor’s sister had a wonderful son John James. One day many many many MANY years ago, she caught him scratching his boy parts. Really diggin in there, apparently. The following conversation is just too GAWD DAMN FUNNY to be made up:
Susie: John, don’t scratch yourself there!
John James: But it itches mommy!
Susie: Well………just don’t scratch it in public.
John James: But what if it ITCHES IN PUBLIC?????
i hate saying goodbye. it sucks.