Still hungry!

Why yes I did eat till I was blue in the face.  Everyone here at the house is still rolling around feeling full and I'm freakin' starving!  Gee, how can that be?  I'm full of excuses, of course...I worked out for an hour this morning, and I could only eat a small number of things at the Thanksgiving gathering because of my dietary restrictions.  Course I took extra large portions to make up for that.  And I ate breakfast TWICE before we left to go to our gathering.  And I ate a piece of amazing pecan pie after my meal.

OK, whew, big guy just declared that he's hungry, too.  I'm gonna go eat!

I know, I know, quite possibly the worst self portrait ever...I need to stick to flowers. 

What's on the dial?

The car radio has become its own battle ground these days.  Well, actually, not the radio itself, or the music, rather the fact that I actually get into the music my kids play.  I sing along, dance in my seat, put my "hands up in the air" when the lyrics dictate, hold up my pretend lighter, and shake my groove thang as best I can while wearing a seat belt.

What I've learned:

1. I am a "terrible" singer.

2. I am an "embarrassment" even if no one is around to see me.

3. If I sing or dance to a song I like, the radio station changes almost instantly (after a barrage of insults, of course).

4. If I sing and dance to a song I don't like, the radio station changes almost instantly (after a barrage of insults, of course).  Aha!  I can now use this against my kiddos.  Groovy!

5. If I sing really quietly and move almost imperceptibly, I can totally get away with it.

6. There is one exception to my kids' objections...for some reason Eminem possesses some sort of super power that allows me to full on sing and dance while his music is on the air.  This is super groovy...he's totally on my "like" list.

Wassat you say?

" I love you.  I love you.  I love you.  I love you."  My little guy had me all in mushville telling me sweet wonderfullness through the closed window after I gave him a ride from his bus stop (it's only a few blocks away).  I was floating on air as I drove to pick up my big guy (much further than a few blocks away).  My little guy LOVES me!!!!  Yup, solid!

When I pick up my big guy he's standing oh-so-casually right by an old Corvette.  I begged him to let me take a picture of him beside it and he steadfastly refused.  "You should buy me a Corvette, mom."  Uh, yeah, right.  Every day when I drive him home we get to one spot where I have to have him recline his seat or lean WAY over so short little me can see clearly.  Almost every time he gripes about it.

"Hey, it's because you're a big kid with a big head, dude."  I grumble only half-way meaning for him to hear me.

"Both of those things are your fault, mom."  Oh, guess I don't have a snappy comeback for that one.  He's got some variety of accuracy on his side, after all.  (I love that kid!)

He did lean over, though, so I suppose I got my way in the end and still managed to show him who's boss. 

We got home and I went in to get more love from little guy, since he was being so generous and all.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, too!" I say as I enter his room.

"I was saying 'alligator food' not 'I love you.'"  I turn, leave the room, and go to a mirror in my bedroom.  I mouth "alligator food" and, dagnabbit, it does look just like "I love you."  Fricka-fracka!  Little guy wanders in and finds me testing the similarity of the two phrases.

"You should try mouthing 'vacuum'"  I did...done...check...note to self, don't ever mouth the word "vacuum" around my boss or my students' parents...things could go terribly wrong.

Sock Love

Our new puppy, Hazel, has a serious sock fetish.  She seriously loves them!  I've actually seen the little toot run in our bedroom, lean over the edge of the laundry basket, and snag a tasty sock.  She also runs in the little guy's room and snags his socks from his floor (his floor IS his dirty clothes basket).  Tonight my big guy was taking his socks off and I told him he should just throw them right on Hazel's bed, you know, to save her a step.  He certified me "unfunny" and left the room.  Sigh...

No socks have been destroyed as a result of her sock passion, though to this anti-moisture chick, the results have been decidedly disgusting.

I'm happy to report that my socks are, to date, undesirable.  I'm good with that.

Family Style

I had the pleasure of grocery shopping with my little guy this afternoon.  He was funny.  He kept commenting on how poofy his hair was when it was humid outside.  He'd hold his hair with his hands, pressed tightly against the sides of his head, then release and say, "POOF," over and over again.  Yeah, yeah, this big Texas haired girl knows what you're talking about, kiddo.

He brought up how his older brother used to "always" wear button downs and slick his hair back with gel in elementary school.  Tis true, for a couple of years my big guy was quite stylin'.  I reminded my little guy that his brother had a phase before then, one where he only wore tie dye shirts, every day, without exception.  We agreed it was a pretty funny switch from total hippie tie dye kid to slicked back hair button down dude.  I thought it was awesome!

My little guy's style?  Well...aside from having long curly hair for most of his childhood (it's short these days), his clothing style has always been "grab the top shirt, top shorts, and any two socks" method. I dig it!

I love my super stylin' guys!

Juicy material, but no....

Uh oh, I just found myself threatening to use my blog to curb a family member's behavior!  Ack!  That must be violating some prime directive or something, right?  Blog must be used for good and not evil or some such thing.  So, I hereby vow to never do that again...sigh...it could be such an effective threat.  About that behavior, well, I'm creative, I'll come up with something.  :-)

The Dog ate my Homework

While our new little addition has managed to not destroy anything of value, she has not been destruction free.  All the toys we have around the house that Scout has lovingly moistened (but not chewed) over the years have remained undamaged and intact, as have our shoes and all pieces of furniture.  No small miracle, I'd say.  Cardboard, however, and bits of paper left strewn about the house have become fair game for that little one to turn into confetti.  And, man, she likes to spread it about.  Looks like we celebrated with cascarones in our front room!  Well...last night the little toot was running across the room with a sheet of paper in her mouth.   She settled in on her bed for a good ol' happy chomping session.  That paper looked a little familiar, and on closer examination it was obviously little guy's french horn practice record.  It was perforated across the end and crumpled throughout.  It was reminiscent of the old computer punch cards from my mom's job at UT in research and development we had in my house when I was a child.  We were supposed to use them for phone messages and such.  It was a tricky thing writing notes around all those little rectangular holes, frequently deceived by those nasty little hanging chads, our pencil lead popping through to the other side. 

Anyway, little guy had to redo his practice sheet.  We scanned it immediately and emailed it to the band director...you know, just in case the puppy got the munchies again.