Mothering Many

Do you ever look at the models in the swimsuit catalogs and ask yourself if the designers were smokin’ crack? I will admit that this is something I do with great regularity. Now, before I had kids, I was 5 feet tall, and buxom. Voluptuous, I guess you’d say. Now that I’ve had 8 children, I’m 4′ 11″ (how the heck did THAT happen????), buxom AND hippy, and voluptuous doesn’t even begin to describe the current state of my…. never mind. Just never mind.

So, when I go looking for a suit, I want something designed for a real woman, not Cindy Crawford, who shares my maiden name, and nothing else. I’m more into the Plus Size Tankini than the itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny, iykwim. Now, I do have some family members who need a suit designed for Twiggy, and I can find them at the same place–SwimSuits for All. All=everybody in the family. Easy-peasy!

The grocery store is not that exciting, is it? It’s not to me, at any rate. Mostly just another chore to get done. My children, however, seem to mis-hear me all the time. I know this is true, because when I say “go to the grocery store”, they act like I have said “go to my special place”, and they all beg to go. And since the grocery store is really NOT that exciting, it thought it must be a crazy mistake.

And then I figured it out. It’s the vending machines by the door, the ones made by vendstar and others. The banks (yes, I said banks–have you looked lately??) of machines, sell everything from little plastic rings to fruit-shaped gum balls that are almost life size.

–insert picture of lemon gum ball here, except she ate it so it’s not in the cabinet anymore–

And tattoos! And bones. And fruit candy……ok, I think you get the point. And I’ll be getting it the rest of the afternoon since I made the mistake of asking Diva to “tell me about those little machines at the store”. Ha!

Dear self: please remember to tell DH to go pay for the boys football pictures this week. These would be the ones they had taken week before last when the checkbook stayed at home and that didn’t get paid for last week because the checkbook was empty, even though it was at the game. Because one day those boys may be famous, and play Penn State football and you will want them to remember you hauled them to football games back in the day.

is non existent. I have struggled to accept that, but some days, I just do better than others with this concept. This morning, I sat down at MY desk to discover that MY pencils were missing and someone had put a pen that doesn’t work properly in MY pen holder. I detest a poorly performing pen. I have a carefully selected assortment in my holder, and those are the ones I want, the only ones I want, and you better leave them alone. I once went so far as to buy pens emblazoned with “MOM”, but they were horrible, skippy pens and quickly ended up in the garbage, though not before being “borrowed”.

Perhaps it is time to investigate higher quality personalized pens in my continuing quest for writing perfection. I could maybe get ones with built in sirens that sounded an alarm when touched by fingers not attached to my own hand. Do you think that would work?