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Showing posts from September 12, 2010


I may or may not have a slight obsession with Sharpies.
Okay, I may.

Gone in 5, 4, 3, 2 --

I can't keep it a secret anymore. I'm so giddy I could explode. In fact, I'm pretty sure I will explode if I don't tell you - and that would be quite the mess, and you know how lazy I can be. I sure don't want to be cleaning that mess up. So, at the risk of jinxing everything, I've got to tell you -----


Yes. That's right. Gone. Adios. Good bye. Send her packing! Don't let the door hit you on the way out!

In just five more days! Gone!

As in, no longer in our house.

As in, no longer destroying furniture or running out in traffic or barking and whining at midnight. And 2am. And 5am.

As in, no more getting knocked over by dirty dog stench the second you walk into our house because the thing goes manic when you try to bathe it.

As in, no more splinters of wood from whatever piece of wood she chewed up. (Like baseboards, pantry doors, book shelves - you get the idea.)

As in, no more urine soaked pillows. And blan…

I'm not having a birthday party.

I'm not having a birthday party.

There. I said it. No, not for me - I'm not having a big ole' birthday party for Cletus the Used to be Fetus's First Birthday. Big V doesn't mind. Jelly Bean doesn't mind. Dotter doesn't mind. In fact, no one has lost sleep, become traumatized and/or needed the assistance of the Mental Health Officer to deal with this. It's just the way we do things in our family. We really don't see why we should have one.

I could give you a long list of reasons why - starting with I hate people and ending with so there! and they'd all make sense to me, but my decision still might not make sense to you. That's okay. You can throw your own birthday party for your own 1-year old. I won't even feel bad if you don't invite me. It still doesn't change the fact that we're not having one for Cletus.

In my own mind a birthday at this age is for the parents. It's sort of like announcing to all your friends and fa…

Things That Confuse Me #72

Our cuttting board.

Our cutting board slides nicely under the counter. When you want to cut something, you pull it out. Use it. Clean it. Slide it back into its resting spot.

No matter how many times I explain to the people who reside in our house that you really should clean it because little crumbs will entice rodents and ants and creepy crawly things that totally gross me out, they still can't figure out how to clean it. It's odd, really. I've actually witnessed the teen pulling out the dirty and used cutting board, throwing on a freshly cooked pizza and cutting it without a care in the world, almost as if forgetting the fact that day old crumbs are sitting under the pizza. It kind of grosses me out.