Observe This...

It is time for another substitute for a real post, aka "The List". Here goes...

1. The older boys started school yesterday. No one cried, not even the mama. I say that is nothing short of miraculous.

2. I bought all three boys the same shirts for yesterday. Does that make them nerds?

3. I have come to the conclusion that all school cafeterias smell the same. I am starting to grow suspicious that it is some secret bottled spray. The only hole in my theory is that if one was going to bottle a scent, surely it would not smell like a combination of cookies, sour milk, frozen square pizza, and bleach.

4. I will always bask in the glow of the ease of back to school shopping for boys. We went shoe shopping for Lincoln. We had two pairs of sneakers in less than 5 minutes. No whining, endless looking, or griping. Take that every person who has told me I am missing out by not having girls!

5. Soccer at the Y is an organizational nightmare. I cannot believe I agreed to this... and am paying for it to boot.

6. It is Friday now, and I am just coming back to finish this list. Busy... no. I WAS a cleaning hurricane yesterday. Cheerios on the carpet cower when they me coming now.

7. Did you know the phrase "Children should be seen and not heard" was actually coined by the inventor of duct tape?

8. I totally made up #7.

9. I paid a gross amount of money for my tankini this year. Why? It was tie dye.

10. I got hoodwinked into buying little one ounce, yes ONE OUNCE bags of "natural, organic and good for you bunny snacks." They are teddy grahams shaped like rabbits. I paid for rabbit grahams. Fattening little rabbit grahams too. Why did I think rabbits meant healthy... because rabbits eat carrots, that's why. Somewhere an advertising executive is laughing.


And... here are some photos from the first day. The End.

When I Grow Up...

So, the age old question of "what do you want to be when you grow up?" was recently made clear to me...

When I Grow Up I want to be a Professional Vacationer.

I know that sounds lazy, and unproductive. I am ok with that, since I know it won't ever really happen. Plus, if you are a professional vacationer, I imagine you would eventually get bored with it. "Ugh, another day at the beach... tanning, swimming and sleeping in the sun. Hmpf." It is akin to the baker who gets sick of cake, or the carpenter whose own home needs repairs, etc.

I mean, I would still love to give it a try and all... just to see how bored with it I could get. :)


We went as a family to the beach last week. Just me and my boys. It was heavenly. We sunned, we played games together, we relaxed. We enjoyed being... a family. I love those boys. Now, you know it would not be a true vacation experience without at least a few funny incidents courtesy of our children... well, and us maybe. So here we go...

1. When you are at home and your two year old says, "Mama, I go pee-pee outside." You say, "Ok, let 'er rip" When you are at a beach condo that is on the third floor, please note... "outside" to that two year old is the balcony, and he will indeed still "let 'er rip". Sorry neighbors below.

2. The one lone drunkard woman we saw upon arrival, my child felt the need to note her presence... Every time we saw her. "Psst... Mom, there is that lady who was drunk!" Only know this, 8 year old boys have no ability to whisper. At all.

3. Six year olds have NO fear of using the "F" word on the beach. "Hey mom! Look at the lady, she is FAT! Really Fat!" (what f word did you think I meant? Gutter minds!) Oh, and yanking up that same six year old and whispering fiercely in his ear to hush, that may result in him pulling back and looking at you like you are nuts and saying, "Hey, stop getting your breath in my ears! I just was talking bout that fat lady over there." And yes, the finger will be pointing directly to the intended target. (ps six year olds also hate sitting in a sandy time out.)

4. Grilling seems like alot better idea before you realize you have to haul charcoal, meat, utensils and other necessities down to the grilling area. Saint Micah did it all.

5. If your 2 year old is cute, he can totally get away with peeing in the grass by the pool.

6. It is not wise to have your small children watch "Shark Week" before a trip to the beach. It is even more cruel to tell the 2 year old, "See the sharks, they are going to bite your toes." I shant share which parent did that, but suffice to say, this will not get him the sainthood title of #4.

7. My poor Micah. He does not know how many years of sunning my skin I have put in. I mean, we are talking baking on a black tar roof, using crisco at my friend Melanie's pool throughout middle school, and countless hours floating in pools. You can't get to this level of leathery skin overnight. Micah assumed he could handle the rays with the no SPF dark tanning oil I use. Alas, he turned into quite the lobster by day two. It left me to have to man the boys at peak tan times, which I gladly did. I will surely look like a peach pit by age 40.

8. Beach TV. Convincing your spouse to watch back episodes of LA Ink so that he will fully grasp the brevity of the season premiere will not be appreciated by aforementioned spouse, even if he does appreciate the artistic ability of said tatooers.

9. It is totally immature to engage your children in diving for a torpedo at the bottom of the 8ft deep pool simply because some snotty 13 year old girl informed them they could not and should not do so. In fact you should just ignore her snotty talk, and the bossy orders she issues to your children and her constant stealing of said torpedo. (as apparently her own mother can.)Please note, cheering them on as they retrieve it effortlessly, that is immature too. Well, hello. My name is Jude and I am an immature beach mother. Sorry.

So there you have it.
I did affirm the following resume worthy talents for the career path mentioned above. I am an excellent pool lounger, and can log several hours before needing a break. I love crab cakes, fruity drinks and sand between my toes. I can pack a cooler with enough juice boxes and snacks to make it through lunch time, and can safely assess the juice box to full bladder ratio time of small children. All of these and more qualify me for full time employment as a Professional Vacationer. Salary requirements are negotiable.

Some photos. I know there is a lack of cool beach shots. I looked at my camera, my lovely expensive camera, and could not do it. I knew I would be the moron who drops it in the sand, or lets a wave wash it out to sea. Camera wimp, that is me.

W-W-W-Wednesday....

Yeah, you have to title it that when you can't pick the correct "W" word for alliteration. Wacky? Too first grade dress up day. Wonderful? That ended when my hand went in the commode by 8am. Whiney? Been there, done that. Worn out? Maybe that would work... yes... Welcome to...

Worn Out Wednesday

where moms go to admit, we have run out of steam.

Why am I worn out? Well, why bother with that, let's get to the real reason why you are still reading... my hand in the commode. Oh yes... tis true. At approximately 8am, I, SuperMom, heard the distressed call for help...

"Oh no! Mama!! Buzz!'

Now, I already knew that whilst sitting on the potty, looking so cute, and doing his business, Alden was also clutching a small Buzz Lightyear. I had already walked by, noticed this extra chum on the pot, and said, "Now Alden, be very careful. Do NOT let Buzz fall in the potty." I am sure this choice of mine would now be filed under the former post of "things I wish I had not done as a parent." I do not know what overtook me, making this kind of rookie error in the commode realm, but I did.

A few brief minutes passed before the aforementioned call for help went out. I knew. I knew the minute he sent out the SOS... Buzz went where no toy should ever go.

I donned my cape, prepared to become the superhero needed to tackle this mission. I am not quite sure what the insignia on such a cape would be, but I entered the bathroom... and had my suspicions confirmed.

Buzz was now laying in the depths of the commode, surrounded by Alden's former food. I promise you this, if we lived in a newer house, with a better septic system, I think I would have just flushed and informed Alden, "Buzz has gone to live with the fish in the ocean, like Nemo!" But alas, here in the casa de fingerprint, we are living on borrowed plumbing replacement time.

Instead, I once again, left my dignity and cute new plaid wedge sandals at the door, and reached my hand in to rescue Alden's most favoritest toy from his smelly grave.

There are methods to consider in such a search and rescue operation. Did you know that? I mean, you cannot just go plunging your hand in there. You need to access things like, firmness levels, break apart potential, and of course, how to get the Buzz out without any contact with the, eh... former food. I will brag a little here and say, I did it. The operation was quick and smooth, and Buzz was not marred in anyway. After he and my hands took a nice long bath in bleach, we are both back to normal. Well, or what passes for normal around here.

Please note that the rule about no toys on the potty, that is back in place, and shant be broken again...