Funny?

Funny how sleeping with your mouth open with the heater on will cause your upper lip to go numb and look like you have permanent lip liner on. A deep, dark red lip liner. Very attractive. And hot.  It matches the dry mouth nicely.

Funny how when people say the heat of a jalapeno is mostly in the seeds, they are right. Mostly that would be The Pioneer Woman. She says that all the time.

Funny how some people with chapped lips feel the need to test out the seeds to the jalapeno. 

Funny how there is just some pain that you can't describe, no matter how hard you try. Sometimes, there are no words.

That really wasn't funny.

Funny how no matter how many times you wash your hands after handling said jalapeno, the burn somehow secretly stays on your fingers and escapes into every crevice that finger touches.

And I do mean EVERY crevice. The burning is deep, and hot, and painful and surprisingly long lasting.

Somethings really aren't that funny.

This was one of those things

It's how I knew....

I had a dream last night that I let my 9 year old drive a truck that was not his

After he wrecked it into a cement wall, we left the scene. I mean, how was I going to explain to people that I let my 9 year old drive a car....that was not mine.

But then again how was I going to explain the red paint that somehow went from the stolen truck to the front of my van...which was in no way involved in the accident.

I was so overcome with guilt that I drove back and admitted to the teenager who owned the truck what had happened.

He was TOTALLY fine with it and said he hated the truck anyway.


This was my first clue that I am sick....

All you east coast friends, stay warm!!

Not the fabreze!!!

I just remembered a pet peeve that I have and I thought I would share it with you all. Because that's the kind of friend I am....a sharer...and a giver.

I had totally forgot that I hate these things until Hubs went and bought 130 of these suckers at Sam's Club. Okay, so technically I bought them but only because he doesn't have a membership at Sam's Club. Only I do...which is weird because it is his parents who pay for our membership and for reasons unknown to us did not include his name on the account. I guess he can't be trusted to be alone in that warehouse. 

Anyway, he went with me to Sam's and he offered to run and get the bags while I stood in line. I am also lazy like that. In my defense they were clear on the other side of the store and we had a cartload of food and a great place in line. Plus he volunteered. Not because he is nice. Oh no. It was the samples that brought on this sudden act of kindness. Whatever...I'll take it.

By the time he got back with the bags, it was our turn and it was too late to exchange them. So that is how I was tricked into buying these bags. I was tricked.

There is just something wrong with having garbage bags that smell like my grandma. Garbage shouldn't smell fresh, and flowery, and Fabreze-y. I like my garbage to stink like garbage should, thank you very much.

Having good smelling garbage bags is like putting Axe on a baby. No! Stop that!! It's just WRONG!!!

So I must suffer daily for the next 3 months.....ugh!!

Pray for me, would ya?

A boy:s mind....

"Mom, do you think that Jesus farted?" he asked.

I spun around to see if he had been struck dead on my kitchen floor.

"Well, when  Jesus lived on the earth, his body was imperfect. He had to eat. He had to sleep. And yes he even had to go to the bathroon. He he didn't he would explode," I explained.

"Hmmmm. That's so weird to think about," he said, with a smile on his face.

I agree. Such a weird thing to think about.

Only in a boy's mind.

Happy Halloween!!

Show some restraint!!!

We have "No Touch" zones in our house.

I don't mean places in our house that you can't touch....although that is a good idea. Not that they would be respected in my house, but still. But that's not what I am talking about. You see, we have taught all our kids that there are places on their bodies that people should not touch. We are very clear on this subject.

Thank goodness for that!
Last Saturday, my 13 year old son informed me that his teacher had slapped his rear end. What!! Say that again!! Slowly. Start over, please.

"I was leaning over to pick up my backpack and someone slapped my butt. I stood up and turned to see that is was my teacher. I said, 'What the heck!' Then she smiled and said, 'I'm sorry. It was right in front of me. I couldn't resist.'"

Ummmm, excuse me! Why couldn't you! Are you 13 years old or an adult? Are you not a trained educator of children? Do you not watch the news??? What is wrong with this lady? There are some lines that you don't cross. Actually, there are some lines that you should never approach. Apparently she doesn't think there are any lines.

This teacher....has been bothering me this whole year. She is the art teacher. She sometimes will have pictures of naked people up, which I understand is "art" but I am not sure that's the kind of art you want to be displaying in your 8th grade art class.

She has also allowed crude, inappropriate behaviour to happen in her class several times.Like the time she had the whole class draw a picture of a male student with a broomstick between his legs. Not bad in and of itself except that the boy proceeded to masturbate the stick. Now the class was no longer drawing a broomstick, rather his erected male part. She simply laughed and told the kids to draw.

You can bet I was in the office on Monday morning. At best it was sexual harassment. Grossly irresponsible. Incredibly unacceptable. Needless to say, he is no longer in her class and the school is dealing with her.

"No touch" zones are not to be messed with.

Ever!

He's a killer!!!!

He is trying to kill my children.

I am not sure why, because my kids are AWESOME!

But for whatever reason, my husband is trying to kill them. Poison them to be exact. How do I know this? Because he told me so.

Not in those exact words, of course.

I was sitting at work and I get this message, "Hey. Is it okay to eat pink chicken?"

So I asked him, "Pink? Umm, generally speaking you should avoid pink chicken. How long did you cook it?" A little pink in chicken is okay, right, as long as it is the cooked kind of pink.

"Well," he says, "I didn't thaw it. I just put in on a cooked it for about 7 minutes."

I half expected to come home to tummy aching, toilet hugging, yellowish-green faced children. It's a good thing that most of my children were in rebellious moods and had refused the raw chicken. My oldest, however, consumed more than he normally does.

"This chicken is soooo good," he had said. Apparently he likes raw chicken. That or he craves a wretched death. By some miracle, he also didn't get sick.

My daughter, who had only had a sliver, woke up with an achy stomach, and a pretty bad headache. Poor thing. But even she was lucky. It could have been worse.

Much worse....

...a slow and painful death.

He's the raw chicken child killer.

A fieldtrip...yay.....

I lied. Kind of.

The letter said, "If you would like to attend, sign your name here."

I signed my name. But that didn't mean that I necesarily wanted to attend. Not entirely true.

You see, my second grader is going on a fieldtrip in November. And I, personally, don't like going on fieldtrips. Oh, I used to...like them...when I was a second grader. It meant getting out of school... getting out of homework... going someplace new. That's fun.

But ever since I turned 18, fieldtrips are....well.....more like work. 

For a working mother of 5 children, an elementary school fieldtrip means:

...finding a babysitter for my 4 year old
...getting a background check so that I can get the state's permission to hang out with my child...
... being responsible for 5 other children.
...forgetting my "To-Do" list for the day.

Slightly less than fun?

That being said, I do love my second grader. And he begged me to go on the fieldtrip. So I signed the paper, half-heartedly. I did it partially because I knew I was not going to be the "chosen" one.

You see, all parents who want to go (or lie about the wanting), have to sign the paper. Then the names are put in a jar and the lottery begins. Only 4 parent's were allowed to go this time. Four. For the whole second grade. My name was not being picked.

PLUS we were late getting out paper in. "Surely they have already picked the chaperones and I am just signing this so that my son sees me trying my best to go on that trip."

Surely nothing.

My name got picked.

Oh, lucky day!!

(ps. my work computer doesn't like blogger. I can't change the color and size of the word from here....sigh.)
(ppss. Sorry I have been MIA. I only blog when at work and my work schedule changed to a time almost impossible to blog. But I hope that I am back for good.)