Ode To Clorox

Tis the season of the Uglies

And my house is full of littles

You clean up snack time messes

And even bathroom pittles.

Your wipes are just plain genius

For Uglies and much more

Especially when the Uglies

Splatter walls and on the floor.

The "splatter" of the Uglies

Seems to be the worst-est part

When the toilet seat's left down

And when the Uglies shart.

But let me show the Clorox love

Outside of Ugly season

Little boys that stand to pee

Earns respect for you and for good reason.

The love is deep within my heart

Year round despite the flu

Sniffles, snots and boogers

Just reaffirm how I love you.

And the choice of smell and color

Fresh or lemon scent

Oh, Clorox wipes, it's plain to see

You're truly heaven sent.

CAUTION! DO NOT MIX!

Sometimes two good things are even better when put together.  Diet Coke and pizza.  Ipod and running.  Amazon and free shipping.  Chocolate and cinnamon bears.  Chips and salsa.  Cheese and crackers.  Rain and a movie.  Grilled cheese and tomato soup.  Boogers and Kleenex.  Boys and Clorox wipes.  Music and dancing.  Dancing and me.     

However.....

 

Lip Smackers and dryers do not mix!  Both are good things.  Both are GREAT things.  Lip Smackers are a classic deliciousness for little girls and big girls the same.  A washer and dryer are somewhat magical except for the fact that they don't fold and put away the laundry after they clean it.  I'm not complaining.  It's still a far cry from a washboard and basin.  The problem is, the two joys of soft lips and dry clothes should not, under any circumstances, be put together.  If only my little darlings could understand that.  "Stop putting them in your pockets!!!"  I've made myself pretty clear if you ask me.  And then to add to that....

Yes.  Crayons and dryers.  Not good.  Not good at all.  One little blue crayon goes a long way when it melts.  Trust me.  Should you ever find yourself in such a predicament though, WD-40 is your new boyfriend.  He cleans crayon like nobody's business.  I huffed more than my share while de-blue-ing the inside of my dryer.  That was 8 years ago and I'm still buzzing.  But now our little family has evolved from Crayola to Lip Smackers.  Guess it comes with age.  I might as well embrace it.  I mean, there's nothing like sprucing up your wardrobe with a few grease spots. 

"No.  I'm not lactating.  It's a grease spot from chap stick.  Promise."

Books! We Don't Need No Stinkin' Books!

The other day I asked the kids to clean the toy room.  I threatened that if they didn't then I would!  Scary, I know.  Because when I clean I take a garbage bag with me and fill it with treasures to donate to the DI.  The monkies were mortified, but still not convinced that it was worth entering the dungeon where the toy room lies.  Then I added that if they didn't clean they wouldn't have room for the new toys they might get for Christmas.  Their eyes widened at the thought of new toys and they were off.  After about an hour of intense cleaning, the four of them came to announce, quite proudly, that they had filled 3 garbage bags with things they would be happy to donate to another child.  Cleaning wasn't so bad after all!  Why hadn't we thought of this sooner, Mom?  So silly!  During inspection of the 3 garbage bags and the toy room, I was surprised to find that they had done little more than empty all the books off the bookshelves into the bags.  The floor of the toy room is still littered with Matchbox cars, ponies, trucks and dolls of every size, shape and color.  Three bags of books!  Are you kidding me?  Heaven forbid we should part with the headless Barbie or the collection of Kids Meal toys.  However, I have to give them props.  They did do what I had asked them to do.  They just did it in a way that sufficed both me and them.  Brilliant little cusses!  Guess I'd better be more specific next time.  Doh!     

Gifts that Keep on Giving

Giving.  It's what Christmas is all about.  Or is it?  Depends who you ask.  Ask me and I'll agree.  Ask my monkies and they'll try to agree with a hidden speck of hesitation.  Ya see, when you're a child at Christmastime, making your list and checking it twice is more about how many gadgets and games you saw between Saturday morning cartoons and then plotting how you can can cram, in microscopic penmanship, all of those treasures onto an 8x10 sheet of paper, hoping and wishing that your wildest dreams will come true and Santy Claus will bring each and every item on your list.  Because yes, your Christmas will be ruined without a Zu Zu Pet or a Pillow Pet or even a crayon maker.  Little do these little people know that their mother can make crayons just by melting down their old crayons.  Tah-Dah!  Magic!  But those years of dreaming of ridiculous prizes are over too quickly so I quite enjoy watching the kiddos boiling over with dreams and anticipation.  I've been there.  Done that.  And I can understand where they're coming from.  After all, I never did get a remote controlled car or a baby sister even though I asked for both of them for years. 

To encourage us to learn to give, as children, our parents let us draw names between siblings.  It was a secret and we were not to tell who we had or what we bought.  Some of us were better at keeping the secrets than others (cough, cough.....Meg).  I loved drawing names.  I loved buying for my siblings.  There were, of course, certain family members that were easier to buy for than others.  The hardest family member to buy for, in my opinion, was my older sister, Meg.  She had expensive taste and an eye for fashion.  I'll never forget the year that my brother Teej got her name.  He was at a loss as to what to get her so I offered my advice and assistance.  (that's the kind of sister I was)  Meg had mentioned that she wanted a purse.  So Teej and I went to Shopko hunting for a purse and trying to keep to his $10 budget.  And there it was.  Navy blue.  Gold accents.  The purse of all purses.  Meg would love it.  Shopping done.  And before long it was Christmas Eve and the moment of truth as Meg unwrapped her gift.  Still to this day I don't remember her immediate reaction.  If I had to guess it would be all smiles and dimples because she was so sweet and too kind to say anything mean.  But before we knew it that navy blue grandmotherly fashion flaw was thrown in the back of her closet where it forever stayed.  Never used.  Meg confided in me afterward that the purse was hideous.  I agreed.  She told me how nerdy it was.  I laughed and played along.  Silly boys, don't know nothin' 'bout purses!  Sheesh!  Sorry, Teej.  I totally threw ya under the bus. 

We've all had years of bad gift giving.  I, for one, have had more than my share.  One year I falsely assumed my father for a lumber jack and gave him a red and green plaid flannel shirt that he never wore, and for good reason.  One year I mistakenly labeled myself  a seamstress and needless to say that was an ugly gift year.  The silky pillowcases my BIL got, compliments of Yours Truly, got shorter and shorter with each mistake I made until they are now undoubtedly too short for his pillows.  Unpicking the seams just got monotonous so obsessive cutting seemed the logical solution. 

In the spirit of giving it's the thought that counts.  Right?  Good luck this Christmas season.  And much luck to myself.  May you avoid tacky flannels and gold accented purses at all costs.  And may you be grateful for the precious treasures that you are so sweetly given even if they go straight to the back of your closet.  After all, even those bad gifts given bring us years of laughter and stories to tell.  Happy shopping!

Why My Hubby is Embarrassed of Me - "Burrito" - Part 4

I recently had a birthday.  Holla!  I know.  Lame sauce.  It's just not as cool as it use to be.  However my day this year was quite lovely.  The kids and hubby brought me breakfast in bed, did the dishes, decorated the house, made me cards, brought me lunch, let me have a nap, and provided dinner.  I really can't complain.  I love this chapter of my life.  And although I'm no longer in my twenties or even a round 30, I'm looking forward to 30-something.  Wasn't that a TV show?

At this age I realize and embrace the fact that I'm a little bit quirky, weird, free spirited, eccentric and imaginative.  I'm totally okay with all of that.  I'm more comfortable in my own skin today than I have ever been.  And no matter what adjective you use to describe me or what you may think of me, there is one thing that I discovered years ago that has only gotten better with age.  My dancing.  Don't laugh.  I've got some mad skills.  And how did I discover this talent, you ask?  The "Burrito".

When I was a teenager I made up a song and choreographed a small dance.  It was done completely to make my siblings laugh.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.  And it worked brilliantly.  The song is about a fellow named Jose and a flying burrito.  No.  It doesn't make sense.  That's partly why it's funny.  This song and dance quickly became popular with not only my family but my extended family.  It has since been labeled the "Burrito" and has been performed at Christmas parties and other family events.  The routine is really quite simple.  I make the ugliest face I can physically muster, and yes, it is the same hideous face every time, and then I dance and sing.  Above all things that I have done or will ever do to embarrass my husband, this is by far the worst of the worst.  With that being said, along with my desire to stay married, the "Burrito" was kindly put in the vault several years ago.  Bye-bye.  So sad.  No "Burrito" for ever more.  So don't ask me to do it.  I will not.  But those of you who have seen it will have it burned into your brains for years to come.  From the humble beginnings of an ugly song & dance about Mexican food evolved a timeless talent that is what I like to consider a fairly decent robot and a semi-good worm.  I'm working feverishly to combine the two with the "coffee grinder".  More info to come. (wink)  

A toast to the "Burrito".  Good-bye old friend.  Cha-cha-cha!

Marco.....Polo

The boys were playing Marco Polo the other day. 

CJ was the seeker as Ranger ran circles around him. 

And where did they find the blindfold you ask? 

They just borrowed the bra off of Lil G's Little Mermaid Bear. 

Little bra = perfect blindfold. 

I'm just glad they didn't use mine. 

Whi-Rash Workout



Whoosh!  I'm famished!  Hard work out this morning.  Ya see, I've been working out with my sister a few times a week in her home gym.  It's pretty rad.  We meet early in the morning at her house and go downstairs to her unfinished basement.  It's nothing fancy.  We just use what we have and dance our way 'round her storage.  We have designated areas for push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, running, pull-ups and squats (which the squat area is also used for burpees, double unders, and jumping jacks).  Today's routine was especially grueling.  I decided to go for the treadmill and Sister started her journey down what we like to call "lunge lane".  By the time she had made one pass down lunge lane I had plugged in the treadmill and was ready to go.  As I entertained the treadmill and she ruled the lane, we chatted and laughed and chatted some more.  After what seemed like forever I looked at the time and realized it was time for me to go home and get the kiddos ready for school.  I unplugged the treadmill and headed up the stairs.  Phew!  This osmosis exercise kicks my trash.  I never did turn the treadmill on after I plugged it in and even that 15 minutes of standing on it wore me right out.  I wonder if that's how karma works.  I thought about exercising while standing in place.  Thank you treadmill for reciprocating those feelings.  Well done today, Sister.  Until next time.



Why is this post considered Whi-Rash?  This diagram should explain.