And the winner of the “I don’t understand you people” award is the person who ended up here by doing an AOL search on “scott peterson underwear”. As in “boxers or briefs”? I have no idea. This is the wrong place for this kind of search, regardless of this site’s placement on your results page. Really. You can go now.
Can someone please explain to me why I have songs from the Grease soundtrack stuck in my head? Specifically “You’re the One That I Want”. I don’t get it.
Another “corker of a day” as Junior’s daycare lady says. It’s that time of year where I have to send him with a suitcase full of clothes. He starts off with a jacket, long pants and sneakers, but in his bag I have to put shorts and sandels. She doesn’t want me to just leave stuff there, so I have to do this daily. It’s not so bad, it just puts the pressure on me not to forget something or he’ll be stuck with the wrong clothes later in the day.
Kudos to the little bird that was on the railing when I pulled in the driveway this morning. He flew at the back door and I freaked out that he was trying to commit suicide by smashing into the glass, but it turns out he was ridding my entryway of all forms of bugs and moths that gathered there last night. I saw him fly off with a moth in his mouth – and I saw that moth stuck in the corner of the glass when I left this morning. He can come back ANY time to do that cleanup, I hate when there are bugs all over the place.
Junior said his first swear today! My gosh, we thought he’d never get a potty mouth! I mean, you hope that they’ll be precocious and making sailors blush before they get out of diapers, but sometimes they just frustrate you and make you wait. So yes, he’s five and a half, and the magic word is….hell. I know, I’m disappointed that it wasn’t something more inflammatory, but I guess there’s time for us to work on it.
So he asked me what the hell I was doing, and of course asked at my mom’s house, in front of her. Mom of course immediately states that he didn’t get that from HER house…and within an hour my father has used that very word at LEAST two times. When he’s in a car, driving or not, he pulls out all the stops. (Ya, I’m talking about YOU dad!)
I think I did a decent job of not making a big deal out of it, so maybe he got the point he shouldn’t use that word, not even when he’s trying to annoy me.
Anthony Wiggle Field is marrying a Greek woman named Michaela. I declare today a day of mourning. Or at least of afternooning.