The Buffy

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My life is pretty dull. I play with a toddler, watch a lot of Yo Gabba Gabba and experiment with the crock pot. I have no bed time and I find humor in Laffy Taffy jokes. Conan O'Brien is my anti-drug.

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Bubbles

I'm sitting outside on a Sunday morning, typing this out on my phone. 

I have a bit of a sunburn on my shoulders and my legs are itchy. Sophie the friendly pit bull is pooping in the yard at this moment. I'm watching her so I can remember where I have to clean it up later. 

Inside I can hear Tommy whining and Brett loading the dishwasher. It sounds like he's watching some of his DVR'd General Hospital. Damn, he loves that show. Emma is playing with Barbies in another corner of the house. 

As I'm sitting here I'm thinking about how long of a weekend it's been already. My body is sore from hours and hours (and hours) of yard work. My hands are swollen from too much Italian beef last night and if Emma's American Girl doll (named Rose, for future reference) needs one more wardrobe change today I'm going to cry myself to sleep.
 
But seriously, I'm so damned blessed. I can't get over the fact that I have these two beautiful children. I adore my husband, and that jackass loves me back. My dog is this gentle giant that would give her left [back] leg to sit on my lap on the couch for like two minutes of her life. Not gonna happen, pooch. Couches are leather and you need a nail trim. We have a beautiful house and 20 acres of woods and a giant bottle of bubbles and a porch swing and coffee and Taylor Swift albums and no immediate neighbors. 

Life is so damned good. 
Whenever you hear me bitching remind me that we have a giant bucket of bubbles. Those bubbles are liquid gold.  


Monday, April 4, 2016

The Lady


Oh Killer. You exhaust us daily. You stretch our sanity. You crack us up. You encourage us to try new things. You devastate us with your refusal to try new things. You elicit the most outrageous reactions from us on every level. 
Child, you probably think I hate you because of how crazy you make me. In reality, I see so much of myself in you. You're spunky and quick and silly and charismatic, but you also feel too hard and react too hard and hurt too hard. Just the same, I know you will grow to be a ridiculously strong, smart woman full capable of taking care of herself. Damn. I fear for the first man to ever wrong you... not only because of how many different, slow, painful ways your dad will kill him. I fear for him because you are going to make him regret ever wronging you. 

You amaze me, child. You are so danged strong, and you amaze me. Almost 5 years ago today you came bursting into this world with drama and loudness and there hasn't been a boring day with you since. 



A Letter to the Moose


To my Moose Man, 
The way you tug on your herniated belly button and then tickle your left ear when you are tired will forever be my favorite thing ever. Your scent is a mix of lemon and dirt and I am addicted to the scent. You throw too hard at the tv and are so manipulative at bedtime that you know exactly how to yell and cry and scream to ensure we come back in your room is maybe the most annoying thing on earth. Your short little legs crack me up, because no matter how slow you are you'll forever work your little butt off to keep up with your sister. Your love for the seester is palpable. I'm amazed at how much you emulate her and how quickly you've learned to tease her and push her buttons. Your fascination for Star Wars and your memorization of the entire soundtrack blows us away. I want to bottle up this year two and keep it in my back pocket, but instead I'm writing this reminder to myself that you are the funniest, sweetest, silliest, most affectionate little man I've ever encountered. 
I love you, buddy.