The world of their childhood is so different,

than the one I grew up in.

– Payne didn’t understand the concept of a commercial until he was three.

– When either of them walk up to any screen, they touch it and fully expect something to happen.

– Payne asks me who I am “texing” whenever I’m on the phone.

– He also knows the car will “tell on him” if he takes his seatbelt off.

– They both tell me to go get money from “the money machine” if I claim to not have any for candy at the store.

– When I was listening to some turn by turn directions yesterday, Payne asked me if my phone or my car was talking to me this time.

HOWEVER, some things never change.

A spider sighting is still worthy of a small crowd.


Thank goodness.


A blow by blow kind of day.

I should have known publishing a mushy ball o’ love last night would earn me one of these days. Ha.

This morning started out mild enough. We all ate breakfast and watched cartoons while Genevieve asked to go to the potty roughly every 10 minutes. After 6 or so attempts and no real success, we had to go to the pediatrician for an ear check.

Now, G does great with the whole potty thing as long as she is a) wearing a dress, and b) isn’t wearing underwear. Very charming visual for you, I know. Apparently underwear is far too confusing if one has been regularly soiling butt covers for one’s entire life. I have seriously considered just taking her out and about in a long dress, but thus far imagining what might happen if she tripped and fell, or say, ¬†suddenly decided to twirl without warning has put fear in my heart, so I haven’t. As a member of the general public, feel free to thank me for my selflessness at any time.

We drive to the pediatrician’s office. I put her very favorite Ariel undies on her and give her a pep talk about keeping them clean. We check in, kids are happily playing. I’m updating my to-do list on my phone, when I look up to see G looking very distressed. Ohhhhh nooooooo.

We rush to the bathroom. To late. It’s alllll too late. I do my best to clean her up. I’ll spare you the details, but it wasn’t easy. Poor, poor Ariel.

I sweat through the rest of our appointment. Ear infection confirmed.

I sweat through the grocery store and inform all children that we will not be speaking while in the store. G repeatedly asks for mints.

No girl. There are no mints for mermaid befoulers.

Genevieve repeatedly requests mints on the drive home. I yell about no mints. Genevieve cries.

We get home and I decide that outside seems like the perfect place for the animals otherwise known as children. I rush in the groceries while shooing the kids outside. I take G to the bathroom….again.

I run outside to clear the yard of dog poo, only to find that it’s too late. Payne has stepped in some already. I tell him to go throw his Crocs in the washer and get his flip flops.

NO son. You can’t walk in your poo crocs to the laundry room. CARRY them in your HANDS.

I clear the yard of poo.

OH! Did I mention there’s no running water because a contractor is here working on the shower? No running water. I clean my hands with Lysol wipes.

I get drinks. Sit down outside. The kids are shuttling back and forth from outside to inside and back again with toys etc.

A thought occurs to me. I run to the laundry room to make sure the crocs are in the washer.

They aren’t. My stomach drops as I search through the other options. Finally, I open the dryer door. The dryer door of the dryer full of clean clothes.


I yell.

I go back outside to calllllmly inform Payne of his mistake. I attempt to regain my composure. All is well for 10 minutes.

Then I see poo on the deck.

Then I see it on Payne’s flip flops.

So much poop.

A dog saw an artistic opportunity in the blank canvas that was the back yard, apparently.

I yell.

Flip flops are removed. I grab the hose to spray them down. Dammit.

Then I see the poo prints leading into the kitchen.

Eff it. We all go inside. I Lysol wipe everything. Then Lysol wipe myself.

Time for a movie!

Movie is over? It’s time for a nice long drive.

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Yup. Still works.

I have Captain Morgan, Coco Lopez, and a pineapple. I’m gonna make it work.

It’s hard

to take life too seriously when:

– you push a cart through Costco while it’s sole inhabitant clutches a large package of underwear and sings “poooony paaaaanties!” for the duration of the trip.

– you find yourself ironing a pint size graduation gown.

– your son keeps talking about the state of “Textas” and how big it is, while you daughter agrees with “Yeah. It could fall over and hurt my toe.”

– you keep having to remind a small
person that Ariel (also on panties) doesn’t like to be pooped on.

– you own these:




I love them.

Future nun.

She looks like one, yes?


Yesterday at church, as we were all kneeling and had just concluded a prayer, G sang out “ah-weh-yoo-ya!”.

This is so much better than the usual “You have fruit snacks, mommy?”.

No such thing.

We were snuggled up as such:


And I was reminding Genevieve that she can’t throw elbows and knees like a UFC fighter, because we were all squished together.

She responded with “There’s too much family in this chair!”.