Sixteen kids and all their attendant adults came to a pizza and pool party at our house Saturday. We had a blast and I drove a couple of kids home. When I came back, the floors looked so clean that I asked my husband if he’d vacuumed. He said no. (Hello? Who turns down free housework credit?)
Twenty-four hours later, with just four people present, the floors had resumed their usual sticky, nature-strewn state. How does this happen???
To the lady who flagged me down at a stoplight to express delight in my Christmas gift: Thank you! I’m sorry my mind was 3.2 million miles away and the light changed before I could share your enthusiasm. Yes, I love it, too. My husband is a huge Jimmy Buffett fan, so I laugh every time I see my license plate frame that says, “I’m the Woman to Blame.”
Besides, can you think of a better description of motherhood?
My son explores a new career path:
“Mommy, when I grow up, I’m going to—I’m going to make, make really cool—I’m going to make really cool underpants.”
“Yeah, really cool underpants. And you know what, you know what will be really cool about the underpants?”
“No, honey, what will be really cool about them?”
“The underpants will be underdresses.”
“So girls can where them under skirts and dresses!”
S: So what do you call a dinosaur drinking Grandma’s Garden Tea?
Mom: I don’t know. What?
S: A herbivore!
[Editor’s Note: Grandma’s Garden is her favorite herb tea. She asked for some for her birthday. No kidding!]