Lost power for quite a bit of our evening here due to strong winds, rain, and other storm-type stuff. So I went back to the gym (third night in a row...go, me!) so that I could do something other than sit in the dark. This is pretty mundane, but it's past 11:00 and I'm racing the lightning here to meet my goal of blogging "almost daily." Is it better to write like crap than never to have written at all? Probably not.
Well, honestly, I could post some cute-ass pictures of my kids, but some weird thing keeps happening to the photos. They turn sideways no matter what they look like in my photo program or how I save them or which way I rotate them. I have truly spent FAR too much time trying to figure it out, with my husband sort of glaring at me as he chases the boys out of the kitchen with a spatula and trips over thirteen or fourteen toys in the process.
Here's an example. This was on the one day we actually had summer, which sounds like I'm complaining but honestly, here's my little secret: I hate being hot. I hate glaring, hot, relentless sun (though I do appreciate a little partly sunny with a gentle refreshing breeze, maybe 70 or 75 degrees?) that chases me into the shade or a big, stupid-looking floppy hat and some SPF 50. Heat and the nasty humidity that go along with it make me lazy and sweaty, with frizzy hair and blotchy freckles, and they also make me contemplate baring my blinding arms and legs in skimpy clothing that sticks to my body and forms a moist, slightly smelly tent of trapped heat.
What was I doing? Oh, yeah, posting a messed up photo of my little Jabberwock.
See? Wouldn't it be a lot nicer as a horizontal? Like it is when I look at it everywhere else in the world???
So this morning I was changing Monkey's diaper. It was the hard-earned product of some pretty considerable work in the far corner of the bedroom, back behind the toybox. When I opened that sucker up, I was impressed, and said something like, "Wow, Monkey! That was a pretty full diaper!" (Actually, I probably said something more like, "Ooh, Monkey, lookie this ginormous poopie diapie!" 'cause I'm a geek like that.)
Jabberwock came sprinting over to take a look. Apparently being a geek is hereditary. "Wow, Monkey! It's a poop-a-potamus!" Ha! A Poop-a-potamus! I can certainly see this becoming a very unfortunate family phrase. I've already demonstrated that my boys are obsessed with potty humor. So I can just hear it now.
"Mom, check out my Poop-a-potamus!"
"Wow, Dad! Way to Poop-a-potamus!"
"Shut up, you Poop-a-potamus-head!"
(Did I mention I teach middle school? There's my maturity level.)