BUTTERFLIES

Today's blog topic presented for discussion: urine threshold. As in, precisely HOW MUCH urine is considered inconsequential and may remain spattered on any/all bathroom surfaces, still allowing the bathroom to be branded "It's fine." (said with eye roll and attitude~bless their surly teen hearts)

The answer? ENORMOUS discrepancy on this one.

Offspring standard~If the whizz drizzle is a mere spray, it requires a cursory smear with one (1) square of dry toilet paper and the "don't ask-don't tell" policy comes into play. However, good news~if the piddle has puddled and dried, it's no longer considered a threat, becomes invisible and smells enchanting.

Mother standard~And let me be clear about this...THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS PERMISSIBLE PEE, PEOPLE! NONE, NUUUUUUUUUWWW, NEGATORY! There is ONLY the angry, loud lament of "Good hell I must have apes for children!" Followed by the sniff, swear and scour.

Now try as I may, I cannot figure out when the metamorphosis occurs between vacant child with no sense of sight or smell, let alone accountability for their own bodily emissions~into self aware adult with animal instincts enabling them to take a quick whiff of the air and point directly at the offending toddler in a crowd of thousands. But I do know it will be necessary for their survival. And not just out in the wild...in this here home as well. Sometimes mothers eat their young, you know.

In the meantime, I shall drag myself coughing and sputtering out of this river called "denial" and immediately suspend assigning the caterpillars in my family to jobs that are meant for full on Monarch's.

Now please excuse me, as I think I smell a child across the street. Something is amiss and I must put his fanny to my face and sniff.

It's what butterflies do.

P.S.~I just went out on my porch before tucking the house down for the night and OH. MY. FREAKIN'. HOLY. COW. The most wonderful surprise on my front steps...a giant bottle of Dr. Pepper and two absolutely stunning "Artful Blogging" books tied up in satin ribbons and an antique postcard, from the lovely Brenda! She's the owner of "Just a Bed of Roses," which is my FAVORITE antique/diamond brooch/vintage stuff store EVER. And can I just say, "YES! MY LOVE IS UP FOR AUCTION AND SO FAR, BRENDA IS THE HIGHEST BIDDER!"

Anyway, the message is clear, dear friend~ "Your blog may be humorous, hon, but it is visually...impaired." Subtle like a crow-bar to a kneecap. We'll call you "Blunt force Brenda." Okay, geeeeezzz. I'll step it up. But just REMEMBER...I am still but an ugly, wormy caterpillar. It may take a while to emerge as you intend me to be. :)

HAPPY HUNDREDTH

For all of you keeping track...HAPPY ONE HUNDREDTH BLOG, BEST FRIENDS FOREVER! How do you feel? Enlightened? Wise? Mirthy and Pretty? Or maybe you're just now realizing that like sand through the hourglass, so went the days of your lives. Plus, a cat crapped in it thinking it was kitty litter, so now you REALLY don't want it back.

Well, if so, let me make it up to you. Go get someones nursing baby, attach it to your chest at 2:00 AM and watch the clock while you wait for the giant and necessary burp that signals the meal is over. And just like that, time stands still just for you! You can thank me later.

Soooooo, second son is now a licensed driver! Let's get tiptoin' through those tulips of JOY, friends! How to jubilize and mark this momentous occasion? Well, son celebrated by nearly cracking in half his ONE AND ONLY CAR KEY, using it to crow-bar open his fuel tank door and then called his parents in crisis mode at 10:00 PM. We parents popped open a bottle of...aspirin...and did some of the best eye-rolling and insult hurling we've done to date. I know! And here we thought our best days were over, once eldest son left home! But alas, twas not the case, as we did ourselves proud, people. Proud, I say!

Not to be left out, third boy is a source of consternation to his mother as well, as he really doesn't understand that double barrel boogers are considered an adversary when it comes to Jr. High status. This is a kid who is over six feet tall, has muscles that put him in a league of "must be self aware" and dimples and personality that take your breath away. And yet, he has an apparent aversion to any reflective surface that might tell the true tale of his nasal passages. I've tried to explain the logistics of having 99% of the student body shorter than him~as in they're forced to look UP to speak with him~to which he sniffs long, hard and violently, leading to yet another bloody nose and even less ability to articulate his consonants. Bless his congested heart.

Jules keeps insisting that when I speak to her, I'm yelling. It goes something like this:

Me~"Jules, you need to play that piano piece again, and this time count."

Her~"MOM, YOU ARE YELLING AT ME! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO DO THAT? I WAS JUST PRACTICING PIANO AND THEN YOU HAD TO YELL AT ME LIKE YOU ALWAYS, ALWAYS DO AND THAT HURTS MY FEELINGS AND NOW I DON'T EVEN WANT TO KEEP PRACTICING! AND I EVEN LIKED THIS SONG, UNTIL YOU HAD TO YELL AT ME ABOUT COUNTING! SO WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO DO THAT?!"

Me~nothing out loud, but mentally counting the days until she has a daughter exactly like her. Insane laughter out loud and a worried look from the girl at the piano bench.

One other thing, she just mentioned that the small splint she found in the first aid chest must have been mine when I was a child because, "You were really teeny BACK THEN. Like skin and bones when you were little. I'm serious!" She apparently saw a picture of me back in the day and finds me "wanting" now, as a middle aged mother. Well, join the club.

Anyway, what a joyful family life I lead. Here's to another hundred blogs full of all manner of hideously embarrassing stories compliments of my children and dear husband.

THREE CHEERS FOR BLOG FODDER FAMILIES!

CHEER, CHEER, CHEER and a cup of rabbit poop ice confetti!

EYEBALLS

Absolute Best and favorite two words put together? DOOBIES AND BOOZE.

Even better than that? With a FLAMING lisp~DOOBIETHE AND BOOTHE. Go ahead. Try it yourself. No, out loud! See? FREAKIN' AWESOME!

Ster and I have been laughing our heads off, texting it to each other over and over. It's our new "go-to" phrase.

"Hey, hon. What should we have for din?"

"Doobiethe and Boothe."

"What's wrong with the cat?"

"Doobiethe and Boothe."

"What's your lesson about?"

"Doobiethe and Boothe."

We're like that. (annoying) We enjoy (beating) a good phrase (to death.)

On a side note~guess what can go numb in the dentist's chair? Eyeballs. Who knew?

Well anyway, go enjoy your doobiethe and boothe and numb eyeballs. I know I will. (blink, blink, burp, toke)

"

HYSTERICAL

Well hello there! JAZZ HANDS TO THE HEAVENS as I drop to my knees in thanks and humility for having my headache scooped out like pumpkin guts. I am light as a jack-o-lantern now and feeling dazzling and witty...

...which reminds me of how absolutely hysterical I was at the dentist's office the other day! Seriously, folks, I slayed the entire room! It was GENIUS! Every word out of my MOUTH was crazy brilliant, and it just got better as I went along. EVERYBODY was laughing! Everybody! Especially the voices inside my head. I was connecting nouns and verbs that NORMALLY, wouldn't have even gone together, let alone have been considered amusing. But THIS TIME, SOMEHOW, it was COMEDIC AMBROSIA!!!

It didn't last, sadly. Not sure why. It was like as soon as they were done, and took the pig nose off my face, things weren't quite the same. I think a pall was cast over the room, as they were all kind of sad to see me go. Grief and mourning.

Lucky for them, I'm going back in tomorrow for a couple of cavity fills. Let the hilarity recommence!

Aaaaanyway...as a side note, I was able to return to my own bed last night, as husband's uvula (is it just me, or does that sound gross? OK, yeah, it sounds gross) is returning to standard size and air can now pass through with less irritation...to me. Oh, no. No, no, no, you sillies. He still SNORES. Just at a lower decibel. But I figure it's a little bit like insurance that he'll never leave me. Just like my stretch marks ensure I'll never leave him. Bound forever through our imperfections~it's for our own good and the good of our eternal family.

All part of the plan, peeps. All part of the plan.

SHOES, CANDY AND POP

It's kind of dreary, folks. Which makes me weary. Dreary, weary and leery of what is to come for the next three months. Will this wrinkled and whiskery old man Winter suck the hope of Spring into his cavity filled mouth, only to blow it out s-l-o-w-l-y for weeks on end as cold, gray and fermented inversion? The answer is yes. Yes, most likely. Which seems to suck the breezy joy right out from under my sails and I sit down with a thud on the deck of my optimism, twiddling my peep-toe-prepped and red polished hoofs.

And so, what is a motivated and self-sustaining woman to do with a forecast such as this? Two words: buy shoes.

Two more words: eat candy.

And two more: drink pop.

Now others~"professionals" (eye-roll)~might suggest this is self-destructive behavior. People like the sinewed, angry, screamy trainers on "The Biggest Loser." Which proves one of my theories. Thin=mean.

Still others might claim that this is too simplistic; that depression and weather worry simply CANNOT be dismissed with a quick trip to Target. They might insist that years of therapy are required to figure out why I want to hide out in my bathtub for the next three months, turning the hot water on with my toes (hidden talent) while reading a good book (trashy novel,) tipping a glass of DP into my mouth and opening up York Peppermint Patties with tongue and teeth, so as not to get the pages wet. To these beard wielding over thinkers, I scoff mid ice-chomp and wrap a towel around my raisinette mid-section. (I painted that picture specifically for your brain. And no, you can't get rid of it by forking out your eyeballs.)

Oh, ye of little faith. The path is straight, and narrow the way. Simple in design, far reaching in consequence and effect, with a healthy dose of self-hatred in the end. But these are things that build character, right friends? And we'll deal with them (debt, enamel rot and abdominal pork) when we have more daylight. For now, it's too dark to see straight.

Shoes, candy and pop. Come, join us as we shop. (Totally rhymes, thus it is inspired.)

Ah-men.

DOOBIES AND BOOZE

Holy hell, my head hurts. Plus I feel nauseated, and the entire right side of my face is weeping uncontrollably and my eyes are slitted and I feel really angry and irritated, and on a totally unrelated topic, (cough*bullcrap*cough) did I mention husband snores? Well, he does. For hours and hours on end, in fact. His uvula is swollen~something he's kind of proud of. And like a giant stinker, though the sound (or stench) is hurled into the opposite wall or ceiling of the bedroom, somehow it ends up directly in my facial region. Let's just say that blessed be the Heavens for thinking up eternal marriage, as there are not too many temporal unions that could withstand the 'hounds of hell' snorting and guttural gurgling into their ear canals...all night, every night...and still stay committed and enthusiastic about their companionship. Bless his hell hound heart. Luv that man of mine.

In other news, Julia is off track. Again and still. I'd like to say I've figured out how to "enjoy that INCESSANT journey" that I keep telling OTHER people to find bliss in. But I'd be a liar. A giant, freaking, hypocritical FABRICATOR THAT HAS LOST HER SHARE OF FRESH SOCKS, AS SHE KEEPS STUFFING THEM IN HER DAUGHTER'S MOUTH TO MUFFLE THE REGURGITATION OF WORDS!!! (Jules keeps swallowing them whole, burping up lint and toe jam. OK, maybe they're not so fresh.)

And let's see. Anything else I can tell you to cheer you up? Just that Spring is on it's way. It's in Florida, right now, but it's expected any month now. Keep your prayers ascending heavenward and let's join our hands in pleading and supplication. Hope it's car doesn't break down or the balmy breezes will likely arrive by hitching a ride with a rock group's tour bus, which will taint it with doobies and booze. And I don't know about you, but I HATE it when my Spring is all liquored up.

OK, enough happy talk. Love you all. I'm off to buy more socks.

TENDOW MOTHEY

Ith ova. I'm back fwum th detith. It wathn thoe bad afto aw. Juth a li-l bih of numneth, buh aw in aw, nogh tho tewibow.

Two moe cavi-eeth thah I hafoo go back two fixth. Nexth week~thoe I dogh puh it off an geh vewy ankthus like I wath thith whole week. Nogh thah you coul tell fwum th way I wath acteen. Bugh BETHT OF AW...NOOOOOOOOO WOOT CANAW! Can you thay "THANK YOU HEAVENWY FATHOW!?!" Thiwiothly. Tendow mothey.

Anyway, ith all guuuuuuugh. Nigh.