Things I Love..

I love change.  Especially when it has to do with my blog format and completely screws up the entire thing.

I love bedtime.  I read stories.  Say prayers.  Give hugs and kisses (times 100).  Give that last sip of water.  Tuck them in tight.  Only to have them holler "Mommy...." immediately following my butt hitting the chair.

I really love it when there is one box of Rice Chex left on the shelf at Target.  The very top shelf.  In the very back.  And I love it even more when there is not one single associate with in a 10 mile radius to get it down for me and I have to pick the girls up in approximately 12 minutes from choir.   No time for associate hunting.   Here's where I contemplate (and actually have done) climbing the shelves.   Or using the basket as a step stool (have done that as well).  But, Mia wasn't there to make sure it didn't roll out from under me (like she was last time) leaving me in a pile of humiliation over a dumb box of Rice Chex.  Heck, I've even put her on my shoulders and risked both of our lives for a jar of bouillon cubes once.  At the risk of not being able to check Rice Chex off my list I continued my shopping (only after stalking the next 10 people who entered the isle..sizing up their height and arm length) I decided to have the check out girl walkie-talkie someone to bring it to me.  You know, that worked like a charm.  I will never climb the shelves, or buggy, or stalk customers, or look for an associate again.  Ever.

I LOVE it when I have the last load of laundry in the dryer.  Whites to be exact.  Only to find one tiny dirty white sock hiding behind the hamper.  

I super love it when Jules gets in bed with us in the morning.  That way, I have her freakishly loud sound-barrier-breaking-breathing on my left and Levi's nails-on-a-chalk-board snoring on my right.  It makes that last 10 minutes of sleep just perfect.

And I'll just out myself now before he gets the chance.  I grind my teeth.  He says it's worse than snoring (which he denies).  But, sweetie, watch yourself.   I've got some footage on my new iPhone (that you insisted on getting me..thanx) of you and your nose trumpet playing a little ditty and I will take. you. down.

I love it that I have bought a box of fettuccine on the last 4 grocery trips.  But, unfortunately, have never used not even one of them.  I've never been a collector but I suppose it's never too late to start.

Maybe that's why I have 3 dozen eggs too.  I'm a food collector. 

And by the way, I know I should be taking food inventory before shopping but guessing is so much more fun.  And, I would never have become a collector if I took inventory. 

I see a quiche in our future...and bread pudding....

I love it that my first aid kit dwindles to nothing more than some gauze and one old (perhaps used) band-aid on a weekly basis.  The girls are aspiring nurses, I think.  It's clear they have rigged an invisible tracking devise on said first aid kit.  Despite my many attempts at hiding it they find it, take the stuff out of it, and put one thing in each of the 10 thousand purses they own (and loose on an hourly basis)  Upon my request that they hand it over...they suddenly fall ill with the worst case of amnesia I've ever seen. 

And I hope they are embarrassed when I bust out with what I call a ghetto band-aid the next time they scrape their knee.  It's a torn off wad of paper towel and scotch tape.   Oh, but wait.  I think I stopped buying scotch tape b/c of that obsession.  Hmm.. maybe I'll just stick the wad of paper towel on their knee and say good luck.

BTW...I sported the ghetto band-aid for much of my child-hood.  You see, my mother got sick and tired of buying box after box of band-aids to feed my obsession and decided enough was enough.  I get it now.

And last but not least, I love it when the naked dancing stick twirling guy seems to be ever present in my life.  Like, when we come home from school he is walking by.  And when I leave the house to go to the grocery store..he is walking by.  Oh, and when the girls and I took a walk he was sitting in his yard next to one of his many "NO TRESPASSING" signs...(the tell tale sign of all neighborhood freaks) he blurts out in a drunken slur "You're a lovely ladeeee...and so are yur...girlss..and yur husband is lovely too!"

Aww, gee thanks.  Made my day.  And this is exactly when Jules asks me (as many times in a row as possible) what that black and white and red sign says in his yard.  I try to mouth to her that I'll tell her later. 

Oh, but that would never do.  She persists.  And get's louder.  So, I tried squeezing her hand to shut her up.  Nope. That made her yell...owwww why are you squeezing my hand!  I just want to know what his sign says!"  

Fine..it says No Trespassing.  And you know what that means, Jules?  It means that he doesn't want anyone to set foot on his property and if you do he will probably shoot you dead.  Or kidnap you and hide you in his secret under ground cellar.  Or beat the crap out of you with his walking stick. 

There, happy now?   And, just so you know, the next time I "squeeze" your hand that means to zip it. Stat.