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:
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.
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.
*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!