Mush, Guilt and Twitter

1

It seems that the boys have finally accomplished their goal of reducing my brain to a bit steaming pile of mush. Or so it seems every time I sit down to write. All those lovely posts that I write while cleaning, baking and driving them all over the city evaporate at the computer.

2

So I fought back. I am now on Twitter. Surely this geek of very little brain can handle 140 characters or less. Or so I am hoping. Anyway, over on my sidebar you can follow me on Twitter. I will probably use Twitter to update my progress after the DS as well.

3.

My sister and I were having a discussion the other day. We would like your opinion. If Stacey and Clinton showed up and offered you five thousand dollars in exchange for making fun of your clothes on national TV, would you take it? My sister wouldn't. I, on the other hand would do it for five hundred dollars. I really have NO shame.

4.

Related to that, when you are grocery shopping and they offer you a hand with your groceries out to the car, do you take it? Several local stores in our area do, and they won't accept tip. I cannot remember the last time I loaded my own groceries at those stores. On the other hand, my sister (she with three small kids) says no. She feels guilty. I figure I get enough guilt from parenting magazines and am happy to give the teenager a reason to be paid. What do you think?

5.

Isn't the stuff that my sister and discuss FASCINATING? We also talk toilet bowl cleaners, puke, and compare what we are having for dinner. I cannot fathom why we don't yet have our own reality TV series.

6.

I was starting to prepare the boys for the upcoming surgery and the fact that I will be away in the hospital. I told Spud who was going on and on about his mother's day tea at Kindergarden that I probably wouldn't be there, but that Nana would be going instead. I was preparing for tears. Instead he replied "oh please do make sure you go away. I want Nana. Nana Nana Nana." At least THREE times since that day he has approached me to remind me that he wants my mother at the tea and not the lady who carried him for nine months and has the scars to prove it.

7.

Maybe I am a little bit vain (or slightly weird) but every time I look down and see my pretty pink toes I smile. They just look so PURDY. Whenever I apply nail polish it looks like a small child got into her mother's stash gave herself a pedi. From now on, someone else gets to do my toes.

For more quick takes, go see Jennifer at Conversion Dairy.