Portion Control

Patience please-- I've had 3 hours of sleep today:) It's a weird place to write from....

Coming from a place of only 3 hours conk-time I was a little hard on myself today and started realizing I'm a "half person." As in half arsed, half cocked, half n half etc, etc. Usually it's OK because while fully rested, halving life is doable. (not to be mistaken with double..remember we're talking in halves here, not second helpings.)

My house is ALWAYS half clean. There's a good reason. There is. Because: if you happen to be one of those folk who might actually be ADD but were never diagnosed you might:

* Do half the dishes before realizing the floor you're walking on might be more crumbs than tile so you
* Sweep the floor but don't actually mop it right then because you notice
* The laundry is washed and needs to be switched over which means the dried clothes must come out
*So you start to fold those clothes and put half away in the kids' rooms before seeing the mountain of toys
*That you help marshal the chillin's into picking up while finding a wrapper under the dresser from something or other. This causes you to head to the kitchen where the trashcan is located which means you see the
* dishes are only half done, so you finish the dishes....
* And since you're in the kitchen you make snack/lunch or dinner (depends on the clock)

Are you seeing where this goes?? Yes, eventually everything gets done. But not until the end of the day. As in approx. 10 minutes before the man walks home and says "Did you have a good day? What did you guys do today??"

On a non-well rested day; say a day where one might be running on about 180 minutes Zzz's - being a "halfinator" has drawbacks. It means getting dressed doesn't happen until almost noon since it took you that long to feed, cloth, and clean up the morning routine and it's attendees, find an item of clothing you can confidently decide looks good (which is not easy when 1. you're eyes are playing saboteur w/ you're brains bid for sight and 2. you don't really want to climb out of the jammies that so cruelly remind you that in fact, you really do miss your bed.) and then relay to your limbs what gymnastics to employ to both pull the clothing on and wrestle the 3 year old w/ the grip of a mildly deranged leech off your calf.

Now that I've semi-explained things: goodnight. I'm going a'courting those Zzz's early:)

TWO?!

Two?! How is she two? Well, turns out Izy didn't believe it either...and it WASN'T her birthday. And she DIDN'T want cake...or her pretty headband! Or so she insisted in the mini-video we took cataloging another "happy birthday." But hey, it was her party...she could cry and all that.

(note the tears-she really believed in her cause)

She did agree that she's 1.99 though. So we celebrated her 1.99th birthday with the usual :

Cake


Super-fly Friends


Life-Like Crying Dolls

It was a good 1.99th celebration. Wait until we actually get to two:)

No, it's not Blood...

We went a little crazy this summer picking berries. The blue, the straw, the rasp and any other kind we could lay hands on. I'm guessing there's a good 40 pounds of 'em in the house at this very moment. (not including those we already "eated.")

True Story: I ate SO many blueberries, the baby (Mia) had blue poo in her otherwise pristine BumGenius. I was going to take a picture but then this post would've been PG-13. It was that gross/scary. Trust me. I'm still seeing a counselor:)

But I did take this:

Caught. Red-Handed.
(Death of a Good Strawberry By Mauling.)

Poor thing. What a way to go...she doesn't even have teeth yet.

Penny for Your Thoughts

Did you know our beloved law-makers recently created a "tanning tax?" As in, if you go to the tanning salon, you must pay a tax.

Perhaps they grow weary of seeing the folk who aren't holed up inside a cramped office building writing mysterious documents, flaunt their brown-oisty. Maybe they are attempting a new, sociological movement in an earnest effort to quell skin cancer.


Maybe they are trying to find creative ways to pay for road improvements and figure, since these people can obviously afford synthetically toasted skin, they can pitch in a smidge more for the pavement surrounding those faculties.... One can only guess.

And since we mentioned taxes; why don't we get a tax credit or write off or something for being alive to pay our taxes?? I'm just saying that if they need "the people" to pay those taxes, then there should be some sort of nod to our generosity in frequenting the planet long enough to donate to the government cause. Right? It would probably increase life expectancy. Say if one were to think "oh, now don't kick up the daisies yet...you'll miss your tax write off!!" Great motivator yes?

Blatantly Pale: Gen

Remember...

Ever have one of those "good Lord what happened to my body?" moments? yeah, I'm right there with ya. So let's just say for the sake of argument that while I technically fit into my fat pants they are 1) a little on the snug side yet preferable to maternity pants but are still 2) called "fat pants." Need I say more?? So today is about remembering WHY those fat pants (and later down the line those maternity pants) were pulled from the closet and actually made to fit. Recalling how a finger-wide, scar-like line appeared on my right hip bone and why...dear Lord WHY one could possibly trace a route cross country utilizing only the little "roads" marking my lower belly. Here are my reasons:

And:

And we can't forget this:

Or this:

Reasonably: Gen