That's not a typo.
That's exactly the way the title came to me in a dream last night.
"Meat. Me."
Spelled just like that. With extra punctuation.
Then, I woke up to the cat gnawing on my leg.
Which, after what happened earlier this week, I totally accepted.
(Honestly, people. I can't *make* this stuff up.)
Dear Kitty;
I am sorry about last night. It was not your fault.
I was tired before I got trapped at the Scout Meeting from Hell (aka. He Who Must Not Be Ended). I'd been home from work only long enough to change from dress pants to shorts; not enough time to use the bathroom at home, I had to use the disgusting bathrooms at the park. And the meeting went so long the mosquitoes feasted on everyone there.
And still, they would not let us leave.
On top of that, every friggin' member of the family "needed" something before they'd let me go to bed. But, before they'd let me help with their "need", they "needed" to do something else first like brush their teeth or pick their butt or something.
You can understand how tired and frustrating my evening was, can't you?
So, by the time I was able to tend to your food and water, I was over the edge. And that little nip you gave me on the back of my leg was just too much.
Again, I am sorry. You did not deserve to have your whole bowl of water dumped on your head.
Everyone else deserved it.
Sincerely yours,
Roses
Why can't the bottle of Worchestershire Sauce keep its balance in the condiment shelf in my fridge?
It's wider at the bottom. It should remain upright.
Yet, it continues to fall over and inhibit my ability to place other bottles on that shelf.
What madness of science am I missing?
... because she could be at her mother's house or at the grocery store depending on what time I call, and that her husband would be home but working in the garage with the power tools and probably won't hear the phone ring so if no one answers I can just leave a message, and last but not least here is her phone number at the end of this long message so if I miss one digit I'll have to listen to the whole long message again to double check it:
OMG, woman!
Just. Stop. Talking!
*beep*
Finish the sentence, then explain your answer
I am less likely to forcefully take control of the bathroom sink and will simply brush my teeth in the bathtub because:
a) my child 's science/craft project is soaking in the bathroom sink, or
b) my pet is sleeping in the bathroom sink
Discuss...
Honest. I did not mean to be the bearer of bad news.
This time...
Again...
The boys' goal for the summer is to be able to run 3 miles a day by the end of August. Elder Son plans to try out for high school soccer in the fall, and the freshman coach has told us that he cuts anyone who can't run three miles.
Running a full mile is nothing for them. They could do that today. (In fact, they will.) Younger Son just likes running, so he's all for joining Elder Son for the company and to set the pace.
All I was trying to do was figure out how much farther they'd have to run each week to work their way up to three miles by the end of August. While doing the math in my head, I spoke aloud.
"So, you guys have eight more weeks before school starts..."
"NO!" they interrupted. "No! No! No!"
"What?"
"Don't talk about school!"
"I'm just saying..."
"No!"
"You have eight weeks left..."
"Shut up!"
It's okay. They have every right to shut me down.
I have, in the past, pointed out the back-to-school sales flyers right after the Fourth of July.
"Oo, look! A dozen pencils for a penny!"
I am kinda evil that way.
Me: Boys, I don't mind you playing video games if you are ready to leave for summer school.
They: Okay.
Me: (five minutes later) Boys, are you wearing that shirt? Do you want water bottles? Get that stuff done before you play video games.
They: Okay.
Me: Boys, you have to leave in ten minutes.
They: 'kay.
(It is now time to leave.)
Boy: Mother, I need a water bottle.
Me: Really? After I told you to get one before you played video games?
Boy: I'd do it, but, I need to brush my teeth right now...
Me: Oh. You mean after I gave you a ten minute warning to get that stuff done?
Boy: But...
Me: Don't even argue with me! You didn't do what you knew you were supposed to do. What you should be doing right now is at least pretending that you have some guilt!
Boy:
Me:
Boy: I'm sorry.
Me: Thank you.
I realize that's not exactly funny...
But, it sure does sound familiar.
Wandering through the grocery store on Sunday, the husband and I were exceptionally giggly. (No reason. Most likely because we were without children at the time.)
Remarked the husband to me in a low voice, "Anyone who doesn't know us would think that we started celebrating the Fourth of July yesterday and haven't stopped yet."
"Well, sure!" I replied a little too loudly and making a bottle-drinking motion with my hand. "Everyone knows you follow the Fourth of July celebration with a Fifth!"
At dusk, Elder Son and his buddy hunt among the lawn chairs and blankets layed out for the coming fireworks in search of their parents.
As they approach the husband and me stretched out on the ground, Elder Son says, “I think they’re around here somewhere. The closer we get to them, the more embarrassed I feel.”
