playgroupsarenoplaceforchildren

So our vacation wasn’t ALL bad. There really was a lot of good.

This was our charming beach house on Tybee Island. The upstairs was cute and beachy.  Built in the 30’s, it still had it’s original wood floors and white clapboard walls.

Here was the “summer house,” advertised as livable, but sadly only for mosquitoes. At least it was cute to look at from a distance.

From the looks of the pictures I took of the kids, it seems like they had a good time.  I guess I purposely didn’t take any pictures of them when they weren’t having fun.  There really is no need to preserve those memories for posterity.

Tybee Island was a really lovely beach, minus the jellyfish. Ella and I are still battling our jellyfish stings. They are now itchy welts and against my protests, Tate read on Google that they usually leave scars.

We LOVED, LOVED, LOVED Savannah. We even got to eat at Paula Deen’s restaurant, The Lady and Sons. At the Roundhouse Museum a few hours after we ate at Lady and Sons, we ran into her son and grandson, Jamie and Jack Deen.  It’s the little things in life, y’all, that I find exciting.  (No pictures of the encounter, none of them turned out.)

The line to get our name on the list for lunch at 9:30 AM.

The founder of the Girl Scouts birthplace.

The Savannah Candy Company. The kids got Ring Pops, of course, since you can get those anywhere.

Thanks for humoring me and looking, I know how excruciatingly boring it can be to look at other people’s vacation photos.  I’m in such a funk right now, hoping that getting the kids back to school next week will perk me up…and perk up this boring ol’ blog.

I know that you don’t really want to hear about all the great things going on in my life right now.  My kids have been the absolute apples of my eye for the past few weeks, it’s like I’m totally in love with them!  They’re so charming, if I told you just how charming they were, you wouldn’t believe me.  We’ve finally found a church that’s great and not weird!  We can finally answer the age old southern get to know you question, “So, where do you go to church?”  Yay for Jesus!

I LOVE MY HUSBAND (well, mostly)!  I have friends, the kind you can call and go out to lunch with and have inside jokes!  I’ve been exercising (Yes, AGAIN. But this time it’s going to stick!)  I’m a recycling maniac and it makes me feel ridiculously satisfied and accomplished!

All those great things are SO BORING, in terms of blog entertainment value.  I’ve been around long enough to know that ya’ll prefer the “woe is me” brand of blog post.

So here are a few things in my life that could use some improvement.

1.  I can’t make iced-tea.
2.  I’m horrible at getting birthday/occasion cards in the mail on time and sometimes they don’t make into the mailbox at all.
3.  I’m starting to break my own rule of replying to email and I’m appalled and annoyed with myself for the unreplied-to emails in my inbox.
4.  Sometimes I can’t keep my mouth shut when I should really KEEP MY MOUTH SHUT.
5.  I’m terrible at making important decisions.
6.  I’m supposed to record my receipts on our spreadsheet, but I haven’t done it for about six or seven months.
7.  If there are Bagel Crisps or Fritos  in the house, I can’t stop eating them.
8.  I cannot keep my toilets clean, THEY ARE OUT TO GET ME.
9.  Most of Ella’s clothes are stained, partly because she’s the messiest child alive and partly because I’m too lazy to stain treat.
10.   My blog kind of sucks.

I am a rule follower.

One time, in 5th grade, I got kicked out of Spencer’s in the mall for shoplifting.  It’s been a few years, so I feel safe in admitting that I DID NOT SHOPLIFT FROM SPENCER’S!  I was wrongly accused.

In college, on my 22nd birthday, I got accused of smoking pot in the bathroom of the Burgundy Room (anyone remember that place in Springfield?  Art Bentley?  *dreamily reminiscing*).  Again, since it’s been awhile, I could confess.  BUT I WAS NOT SMOKING POT IN THE BATHROOM OR ANYWHERE ELSE FOR THAT MATTER.

Since I’m all about honesty today, I will admit to stealing a very large, green thumbtack from the grocery store bulletin board when I was maybe eight years old.  That is the extent of my criminal past.

Every time I leave a store that has those anti-theft sensors at the front door, I get a case of nervous tummy.  This is not because I’ve stolen anything, but because I go through spurts where I set off alarms.  Those alarms are SO ANNOYING.  I never know exactly what to do in this situation.  There’s never a soul around, well except for the priest, rabbi, and Sunday school teacher who just by happenstance are standing at the exit staring at me when I’m seeminginly leaving the store with stolen merchandise.

Usually what I do is keep on walking, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, other than quickening my pace just a skosh.  I try to do my best impression of a person who’s completely unable to hear the alarm saying “Please return to the nearest cashier, we have failed to remove the merchandise control tag from your purchase.”  (Which on an aside, I like how their alarm likes to pretend that it’s all THEIR fault, not mine.  Well played.  But I’m not falling for it.)

The entire walk/sprint to my car I’m usually braced for the come-behind attack from store security guards.

“DOWN, LADY!  ON THE GROUND!  WE KNOW YOU STOLE MERCHANDISE!”  I wait and wait for the inevitable, that inevitably doesn’t come.

So what should I do when I set off store alarms, track down a store clerk to proclaim my innocence?

If you’ve never been to a New Year’s Eve party hosted by a breast implant salesman, you’re truly missing out on a well rounded, perky time.   These are a true party pleaser, you should have seen how Tate’s eyes lit up at the site of the breast implants.  All of the kids even loved playing with what they thought were jellyfish.

(I’m totally cracking myself up over the double entendre in the title of the post.  Get it!?  Ta-ta?  Get it!?  Oh man, I’m hilarious.  I’ll be here all weekend, folks!  Don’t forget to tip your waitresses and bartenders!)

Happy New Year!!

{snicker} Kum & Go. Seriously. Could there be a more ridiculous name for a gas station? The answer to that question is, “I think not.”

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We were watching an episode of the Duggar’s show, 17 or 18 Kids and Counting on TLC. (I really love this show, but I forget how many they have, can you blame me?!)

During commercial break, the first ad was for the Nuva Ring.

{hee, hee!}

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While visiting my family this weekend, my brother and his wife stayed at a hotel. Snickering, my brother told me that there was a sign where you put your key card in that said, “Pull out slowly.”

{HA!}

He’s obviously not a blogger or he’d have taken a picture. I blame him for ruining this blog post.

Phew.  Betcha thought I forgot all about posting on this lazy NaBloPoMo Sunday, huh?  No?  You didn’t even notice?  Well.

**Ella has this really red rash that started yesterday.  By last night she was practically covered with it.  I took her to a doc in the box this morning and the nurse practitioner thought that it she could be having an allergic reaction to her antibiotic that she’s been on for almost 10 days for an ear infection.  So that lazy Sunday I mentioned in the first paragraph was not, in fact, lazy.  It was filled with worry and tender kisses on itchy foreheads, calamine lotion, oatmeal baths,  and holding and rocking a sweet baby girl.  I fully embodied the spirit of Ma Ingalls.

**I came home from the doctor to my husband questioning me, which is completely different than asking me questions.  “Why didn’t they do a histamine test?”  “The doctor didn’t even know WHAT the rash was and was just giving a cop out answer that it’s a drug reaction, wasn’t she?”  “You ARE going to call the REAL doctor in the morning, AREN’T YOU?”

In case you were wondering my husband does not actually earn a paycheck as a hard-nosed detective.

**There is a direct correlation between the number of sunny days and the amount of housework that gets completed.  My house is a freaking disaster area.  Can you guess the weather?!

**I never, ever (EVER) write reviews, but an opportunity to try out a Shabby Apple Dress came my way and wouldn’t you know, I wrote a review.  You can check out my review here!

The fair is in town and to a foodie like me, that means it’s corn dog season.  I look forward to this rare occasion each year.

But really?  It’s not just the corn dogs.  There’s SO MUCH to love about the fair…

The smell of old grease and frying food, people walking around eating meat straight off a turkey leg bone, skeletal carnies with long, greasy hair and a Marlboro Red hanging out of one side of their mouth, roses airbrushed onto license plates, hastily put together rides that make you dizzy and blare songs by Queen, the smell of horse shit, aggressive goats, cows giving birth in front of you while you eat a caramel apple, mullets, extra large people wearing extra small clothes, children with dirty faces and snotty noses, people wearing clever T-shirts that say things like, “I know Jack Schitt,” body odor, cowboy boots, ropers, Wranglers, and large belt buckles, concerts by bands popular in the late 70’s, handmade quilts, homemade pies, blue ribbons, prize winning cucumbers, Gospel tents, unattainable large, stuffed animals, preteen love, angst, and braces, and Camaros with t-tops.

What’s not to love?!