"But I need the floor to be picked up more than I need you to pretend to be a penguin," I said. I'm trying to vacuum here. I've completed the kitchen floor with a baby on my hip and now I'm too pooped to care about the dog-hair on the carpet. And before I can even start caring again, I need two jedi knights to put down their sabers and PICK THIS PLACE UP! There are three tennis racquets, table tennis paddles, a tennis ball, plastic practice-baseball, nerf guns, Oprah's voice saying, "Jessica Simpson is ready to open up. About... The mom jeans. Next Oprah." in the most serious voice ever... and some other stuff going on behind me.
Plus, I've got a case of poison ivy on my FACE. This day would seem unable to get much worse, but I wouldn't say that. It really could. It's just taxing trying not to itch while I wait on the nurse to call me the heck back for an okay or no-way on taking the series of steroids I've been prescribed by the PA at the after-hours who refused to give me a shot on the spot last night as I'm nursing a baby and can't send my milk to a Nazi human lab to be sure The Bun won't get sick.
Turns out, breast-feeders can take steroids for their miserable rashes and other funny bumps. Or. Well. I guess it matters what kind of funny bump we're dealing with, but anyway... probably not if your funny bump is going to be a boy. *wink wink* Or a result from touching your bottom to a public restroom toilet seat.
But, we're on to a better weekend ahead. I love the 4th of July! It's not even so much that I'm some fancy patriot. I just love to be festive and dress my family in red, white and blue head to toe once a year. Except I forgot to get the boys anything. So, they'll more than likely be in skinny jeans and flat-billed hats I've had to get over and just accept; a hat is not a ticket straight to rehab. The skater look is alive and well at our house. And I just hope it fades. But it's not looking too promising.
Oh, I found an old cotton SEWN American flag. It's in really great shape and came in the original box! No telling how old it is, but it looks at least my age. Eh'hem... which is kinda young unless you're 18 thinking of being this old - then you think I'm lame and mommy-ish. At least I did pick up a cute dress for myself. So, yoga pants are losing their tight grip. Oh, and I went from Jerry Garcia, got a little tangled with Carol Brady and then ended up somewhere between this and this. By that I mean I took scissors to my own head. I've done this sort of thing since high school. It's kind of a compulsion. And, if I do say so myself, I'm not that bad at it. Trial and error tends to be my M.O. for most things.
If I'm sick of the length and have no patience to wait on a stylist to get me in - it's out with the skeezers and lop lop lop. Or in this case... after having been given a cut a bit different than the one I thought I was super clear about - ending up about 3 feet to the left of THE BOAT - my bathroom mirror and I got super acquainted and I ended up with a cut I like. It's surprisingly curly. Thank you, RunBun - and I'm not having to fight it anymore with an insanely hot, professional flat iron. I'll keep it handy, ya know, if ever I want to look all... straight and such.
And we're due some pictures, I know. After the weekend, I promise. That project - the master bedroom - it was never photoed. Sorry about that.
*scratchy scratch*
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