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Showing posts from April 10, 2011

Living God's Purpose in the Bathroom

I believe that God gave each and every one of us a purpose to be fulfilled in our time here on earth. Mine happens to be placing the rolls of toilet paper actually on the toilet paper holder.

You see, not everyone can do this. It takes great physical strength and immense education to accomplish this feat on a regular basis. And, while it is true I get winded walking up a flight of stairs and I don't currently hold a PhD, God granted me enough brain cells to figure out the complicated contraption and enough muscular power to muster through the task.
Where would my family be if not for me?

Rolls of toilet paper would be left haphazardly on the bathroom counter, waiting anxiously for water to spill over and wilt its precious edges. Rolls would hang precariously off the edge of the toilet tank terrified of that final moment when some outside force causes it to plunge to its death, only to be found hours later, clogging the bowl, bloated like a dead cow in July. Or, as was the case …

Think you know everything? You obviously don't have a Teen.

I am 37 years old. Which, according to my 15-year old daughter, means that I ought to be shopping for coffins instead of hip new sunglasses. Since my impending death from old age will obviously strike any day now, I figured we should spend more time communicating with each other. Which is really hard to do because (1) I don't text nearly as fast as she does, and (2) I have no idea what she's saying.

It is at these moments, when Teen Speak has my head spinning like that creepy girl from The Exorcist, that she slows to Mom Speed and breaks it down. (Okay. I admit: she would never actually use the phrase "break it down." That was 100% me.)

Last night we talked about boys.

When I was going to school we would go out with different boys. Well, other girls would. I didn't. Because none of the boys wanted to go out with me. They actually preferred to go out with my beautiful, older, richly tanned sister - but, hey! I'm not bitter. If you were going out for a subst…

Looks to me like a fine day for a nervous breakdown.

You know how sometimes you're just standing in the middle of the kitchen, water on the stove boiling over, baby screaming at the top of his lungs while he attempts to open the fridge for the forty-seventh time to get into that can of shortening (again), pre-tween shouting how she can't possibly throw her dirty clothes into the laundry because her hands still hurt from horseback riding four days ago, the teen entering her second hour of showering with accompanied ghetto music blaring from down the hall, and you're imagining how peaceful the thinking gardens might be at the state mental hospital?

No? Just me?

Never mind.

Those Pork Rinds Totally Blew My Budget

You know what I'm never going to do again? Besides take a huge bite out of an onion and down it with a shot of whiskey just so I can dance the night away as opposed to staying in bed trying to sleep off a cold? Take Big V grocery shopping with me. Because that, my friends, was torture.

First off, when I go shopping with the kids and they're trying to dump boxes of hostess cupcakes in the cart, I can snap at them at tell them to put it back or they're not going to watch TV for a week. Do you know how people look at you when you say that to a grown man? Not very nicely, if I do say so myself. Instead, they're all shaking their heads muttering things like why do all the nice men end up with such bitchy women?

Also, do you know how many aisles are in a grocery store? Way too many to hear, "Oh! I forgot about these! I really like these. We should get these." Again. And again. And again.

And, like most Americans we're on a budget. A budget I had to remind V o…