Friday Fragments: The Skipped CD Edition

Tell me you do this too.

Because I feel the need to write down the minutia of my life on an almost-daily-basis, I find myself repeating myself. A lot.

I'll tell a story, and because the story has already been told (generally, better) online, the listener will either:
A) Listen politely
B) Cut me off with a kind, "Yeah, I read it on your blog."

I mentioned that I repeat myself a lot, right?

Throw in the other stories on my twitter feed or Facebook page or when I'm commenting on other people's blogs, and it become apparent very quickly: I'm a one trick pony with a limited vocabulary.

Thus, if you have heard these stories already, please let me know. I've been told that I repeat myself a lot.



(Thanks to Mrs. 4444 for hosting!) 

***
Owen has had difficulty with backtalk recently, resulting in numerous trips to his room to "take a break."

At bedtime last night, I heard him mumbling, "socks, please, socks please."

I went upstairs and dug some socks out his drawer so that his naked, ice-cold toes could remain cute little piggies as opposed to frozen hot links.

I handed him the socks, which were fairly mundane black and yellow tube socks.

Owen's eyes lit up, "Oh, those are my AWESOME socks."

"Your awesome socks? What makes them awesome?" I asked. I know that both of my readers from the Pittsburgh area would agree that anything black and yellow is made of awesome, but I've never given these socks a second thought.

Owen said, "These are the socks I always put on when I'm taking a break. Then, I feel better!"

Damn, those are some good socks. Perhaps I need to invest in my own Awesome Socks.

***
I got a speeding ticket the other day, and I blame my eyebrows. Perhaps if I had plucked them, and my forehead did not look like a caterpillar nesting colony, I could have charmed the policeman. Alas, I did not and instead have a ticket and a court date.

I shared this early Christmas gift on Facebook, and Paul's best friend, a policeman back in Arizona, responded with this pithy response:

HAHA. 

I responded, "Bob, I haven't heard from you in months, and you come out from the shadows to taunt me. Is THIS what they teach you in the academy?"

He posted: YEAH.

Bastard.

***
Owen's pageant is on Tuesday, and he has really come around to the idea, even telling people that he will be a (mask-less) shepherd. I'll give a complete post-game show report on Tuesday, but say a little prayer and keep your fingers crossed that he has a good time. That's the whole point.

The teacher posted a sign-up sheet of things to bring to the post-pageant party. You could bring birthday cake for Baby Jesus, cookies, apple slices, etc.

I signed up to bring ranch dressing. The end. Maybe, if they are lucky, I will pour it in a bowl.

I know. I should have left that slot open for the mothers that also work full time or for the mother who is due within days of the pageant. I didn't.

The pregnant mother is making the birthday cake for Jesus.*

And right now, Baby Jesus is looking at me, so very embarrassed, shaking his chubby baby cheeks with disdain.

***
Owen's need to make lists continues. This week, he asked Paul to write the following for him:

That's his signature on the bottom. He's got a full life. 

Happy Friday!

*In total honesty, she choose to do the cake. I signed up after her. Yet, that's not nearly as funny. Pretend you never read this footnote. LOOK AWAY, I say!