 This is a series of posts that I wrote back in 2006 on living with less stuff. Check them out:
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Hey, baby. Let’s smooch in the van while waiting for your sister to get out of class.
Otay, buh firs I nee hide behind you sung gwasses. Cuz, you embawass me.
You not pos dees on you bwog, do you?
Oh, no, sweetie, I will respect your privacy just as much as you respect mine when I’m in the bathroom and getting dressed.
Good, din gemme noder kiss woman!
How to make your husband run and grab the camera.
1. Get a mop
2. Need I say more.
This is my life. I had just mopped the freakin’ floor when in trots Clay, the kids and the dog tracking in mud and salt on my still wet floors. I stood there, with mop in hand thinking to myself, should I hit them all upside the head with the mop or should I just go clean up the mess?
Clay looked at my stone cold face and said, “What? What’s wrong?”
Gah! I snarled my lip at him, then stomped over to the muddy tracks and did my little mop jig.
Ever since this little episode Clay has been pestering me to post the mop dance on my blog.
Because I have no dignity left and you all have come to expect this type of behavior from me, I figure what the heck, right?
Here’s our puppy, Preacher, minding his own business, chewing on a rawhide. It’s mighty tasty.
And here are my boys, uh, chewing on Preacher. He’s mighty tasty.
Jean, this is for you. That’s Pupanese I’m speaking, in case you’ve never heard that language before. You think that’s gross? You should hear me talk to a baby. It’s sick, sad and people are embarrassed for me.
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I'm not a pig...anymore.
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