Fly, Ella, Fly...

Kite day at school this year was a total bust. There wasn't enough wind to really get the kite up in the air and going. Ella tried and tried. She ran with it. She flogged the earth with it. She ran some more. Still, no flight.

 

She finally gave up.


 

Boo. Hiss. I'm hoping for a nice windy, sunny day at the farm soon, so the children can fly their kites. 

Short on Words...

I'm busy. There isn't enough time for a real post. Just look at this face and pretend I wrote something witty that will stick with you the rest of the day.


 

Thanks!

I love Momastery. I think G is hilarious, and honestly, if I were to have an opportunity to meet her, I would probably sweat like crazy and stutter and fail to string together complete sentences. Or spontaneously drop the F-bomb for no apparent reason much like a tourette syndrome afflicted individual. That happens to me a lot. Not the shouting of the F-bomb. The inability to convey my thoughts and opinions. I get all flummoxed and forget the basics. Like how to talk. Coherently. Especially when I get nervous or excited or mad. Meeting someone like G would no doubt have me flustered because she manages to be funny and brutally honest at the same time. Like her post about being arrested. I love the fact that she accepts that she was personally responsible for the messes she made in the past and doesn't blame anyone or anything. If only more people would accept their flaws instead of blaming their spouse or upbringing or the other motorist or whatever...

Anyway....


The other day, I was reading her post when I realized that she put this phrase out there:


Hey World- You get what you get and you don't throw a fit.


Clearly, G and I are sympatico because I have said this so many times to my children. I mainly use it when I put dinner on the table. The codependents luuurrve to complain about what I decide to prepare for dinner. The rule regarding dinner is plain and simple at my house. You can either eat it when I put it on the table or go hungry. I will not prepare a second dinner in two hours. I ask them what they want to eat; there is rarely an answer. I cook whatever I decide to cook. I tell them they should have told me what they wanted to eat up front. That's far too easy though. The codependents would rather not tell me what they want to eat and then spend the entire time I'm eating dinner telling all about how they hate whatever I cooked. My reply is always the same.


You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit.


I'm southern so fit and get rhyme. Just in case anyone North of the Mason Dixon happens to wonder.

Stop It, Right Now!...

This whole growing up thing is not working for me. I'm thinking of putting a brick on her head to stop her from growing.


 

Don't get me wrong. It's nice that she can help babysit the littles and can reach her own cereal, but it's so sad to realize that I am now a "lame" mama instead of the one and only "Moooommmmyyy" she used to call out for. She tries to inform me about the things that are cool these days, and I promptly roll down the window in the Volv-Ro and holler, "See ya after school, H-Dizzy da Dawg!" She likes that about as much as I like a visit to Wal-Mart.

A few things she has informed me about lately:

1. Even I need a pair of TOMS to pass as cool. I thought being able to buy hooch without getting carded made me cool.
2. Dubstep. Google it if you don't know what it is. She explained it to me. Along with teaching me how to pronounce Wiz Khalifa. She doesn't think it's funny when I play the Eagles with a piece of cheesecloth over the speaker and jokingly call it Dubstep.
3. Her friends think I'm okay...for a parent. It seems I am not as lame as some of the other moms. I bet money it has to do with all the Vanilla Ice I play in the car.
4. It is better to have $65 jeans with holes in them from some store in the mall that gives me a migraine than it is to take the jeans you already own, hang them on the clothes line, take a couple of shots with 000 Buck Shot, and pretend they are $65 jeans with holes in them from the migraine inducing teen store.

Thank goodness I can buy hooch without getting carded; there's no way we'd both survive her adolescence any other way.

Run, Layton, Run...

This is a preview of what is yet to come on the soccer field. Games start very, very soon. He's ready to go!

 

Bleacher Buddies...

His mother may hunt me down and strangle me, but I just had to post this picture of two fellows watching their sisters play soccer.


 

These bleacher buddies are going to get into some mischief I suspect. 

Thirsty...

Ella is a thirsty person. She drinks a lot. Water and sweet tea are her two favorite drinks. She's not too fond of soda-type drinks. Thank goodness. She always has a cup or bottle of water somewhere nearby. It's just the way she rolls.


 

This bottle looks like it is half an Ella tall. It just about was. She drank the whole thing anyway. :)

Just a Sip...

The days were chilly. Then, the days were warm. Layton and Ella had to wear their North Face jackets to soccer camp because it was so cold that day. Even with the chilly air, little man had to have ice cold water.

 

He made it look so tasty!

Such Trash...

My children are so lazy that they don't bother putting their silverware in the sink or dishwasher. They throw away my forks and spoons. I just happen to catch this one on top of the pile of trash and was able to save my nice fork.

Seriously people. They throw away my flatware!!!! I will admit that I am guilty of throwing dishes away from time to time, but it's never any of the good stuff. It's usually the gross mason jar that J uses as a cup even though it's not. This is frustrating to say the least. I have a set of crappy flatware that I wouldn't care if they threw away, but nooooo, the crap always makes it safely back to the sink or dishwasher. Only the good stuff reaches its demise in a trash heap.

 

My flatware is Oneida's Act 1. I loved it when I picked it out years and years ago, and I still love it. I'm just a little short on certain pieces these days. :)

Random Thoughts and Observations...Bipolar Style...

My mood was all over the place the last two weeks with busy days and nights. I noticed that some of my thoughts were sooooo negative. Others were soooo happy. Maybe I need a day off with nothing to do and no one to take care of but me. :)

-I voted last week (or maybe it was weeks ago. who knows when I will get around to publishing this?). The gal who checked me off the list of registered voters did not find it amusing that I wanted to write my own name in for POTUS. Seriously, it was a joke, but the voter police nearly had an aneurysm.

-MMA. Why do all those "warriors" think of themselves as so awesome? I am having (well had, because this was saved via my handy dandy blogger app) to endure a conversation between a young guy who thinks he'll go pro and an older gentleman who actually believes this douche-baggery story. Yes, douche-baggery is how I am choosing to describe this encounter. Mr. MMA is now explaining that all the good fighters are really, really intelligent...apparently, you have to be a member of Mensa to be able to go pro...wait, this guy obviously isn't that much of a fighter; he's picking up all of his imaging files for a specialist...I'm not an expert, but if you're beat down so badly that you have to see a specialist and have surgery, you might have gotten your ass handed to you in your fight...that was in Tennessee...because so many million dollar pro MMA fights take place in Pulaski. Ok, let me just go ahead and ask, does anyone know of any professional MMA fights in Pulaski where the fighters make in excess of 15K for one fight? If so, clearly Dana White has mislead me as to the locations of the big fights.

-Earlier today I might have eaten two pieces of fudge instead of eating lunch. I just really wanted a bite of yummy, walnutty, chocolately, goodness. Don't worry; I did eat healthy at snack time before and after what can only be called complete, total, depravity. I consumed those two pieces of fudge much like necrotizing faciitis consumes flesh. It was gross, sweaty, and all out wrong. And it was sooo good.

-I cannot watch the news anymore. It's too depressing. Or too political.

-Not only have I been caught flossing at work. I have also been caught digging an atomic wedgie out of my pants. Let's just leave it at that. I'm embarrassed enough already. Feel better about yourself now?

-Contrary to popular belief, I do not have the ingredients labels of every food on the planet memorized. I say popular belief, but what I really mean is "anyone who might have to feed Layton." It's always the same conversation.
Them: Can Layton have chocolate milk?
Me: Sometimes. I'll have to read the ingredients.
Them: It's Purity brand.
Me: I have no idea; honestly, I'll have to read the ingredients.

It's not just chocolate milk. It's ice cream. Or cheese. Or fruit. Or canned beans. Or whatever.

See, that's where the issue begins. People assume that I associate what Layton eats and drinks with brand names. I do not. I cannot. That's not the way it works when you have what little man has. A brand name does not answer the question of whether or not it contains corn, gluten, peanuts, etc. You have to read the label.
Even if I have bought a particular brand before, I still read the label before giving it him. It is so easy for a company to substitute modified food starch for potato starch; I can't take a chance that the recipe has changed since my last purchase. When it comes to Layton's diet the answer is always, "Read the label." I feel bad for the school nurse. She is tasked with calling me to ask me about treats that are spontaneously given to his class. She has to call. I think it has more to do with liability coverage than anything. Still though, I feel bad that I never answer yes or no. It's always....You'll have to read the label to me. Try pronouncing Thiamine Mononitrate under pressure.

-I am irrationally drawn to the idea of hiking the Appalachian Trail. The whole thing. Maybe I should have done that before I had children. Hmmm.

-I have been very absent from Twitter lately. Work. I love the tax season of individual returns. So much work. So little time. Loves it. I miss my tweethearts though. I'll get caught up on April 18.

-I am wearing a shirt that you could see from outer space. Alternately named...A-Ro could not pass up the Banana Republic sale one year and wound up with a shirt so yellow that even E-Ro said it was loud. I muted the color for you. Wow. This shirt would look so much better as a pastel.

When good sales happen to bad shirts....I buy it anyway.

-I need some ideas for lunches. I do a lot of salads and fruits and veggies. I need something that is different but still super low in calories. Ideas? Suggestions?

-Ella's clothes that I ordered from Blessed Be the Name came in, and I just about squealed out loud. Sooooooo cute!!! She has already worn two pairs of the pants/shorts and one of the shirts. My only regret was not ordering more for her. I finally went through the Summer clothes, and she is going to need several things this year. Grrrooowwttthhh. She might sport some seriously shorty shorts for a few weeks until I get some new ones. :)

-In other news, I am wearing a pair of pants that I LOVE. Or at least, I did until Ella looked at me this morning and asked, "Mommy, what are you wearing?" I told her they were cute pants. She said, "You may want to rethink those pants." I have a feeling that her mouth is going to get her in trouble one of these days.

-I am feeling Springy.



                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

Random Phone Picture...

Sent From My Droid

Lit Up...

The Fro...It's Growing Back Fast...

It seems like we just had his hair cut, but the fro is already starting to grow back. It seems to be growing faster this time. Nuts. We'll have to pay for another hair cut this year. Ha! Those semi-annual haircuts were a money saver. Oh well. The curls sure are sweet though.

Biscuits, Vanilla Ice, and the Grampy Patrol...

It was a glorious Friday morning. For the first time that whole week, we were actually early getting out the door for school. I decided to throw my hat in the ring for Mom of the Year, and steered the Volv-Ro right into the Hardee's drive through. Hadley ordered hash browns. Layton ordered the same. Ella really wanted something with cinnamon, so I ordered her the cinnamon raisin biscuits. She had never had them before, but I felt like the icing might trick her into loving them. We pulled forward, and I paid.

"If you'll pull forward, we'll bring it out to you when it's ready. The cinnamon biscuits are cooking."

Don't you love it when that happens? I wasn't too concerned though; we still had plenty of time to get to school. We waited. And waited. And waited. Layton farted, and we had to roll all the windows down. We waited some more. I wasn't concerned though; we would still make it to school before first bell.

Finally, the food came out. I passed the biscuits and taters all around the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Ella took two bites of cinnamon, raisin biscuit and said...

"These aren't good. I like the icing though."

As she was handing the box to me, Layton busted out, "Anything less than the best is a felony." I replied, "If you got a problem, yo, I'll solve it." That's right. My six year old quotes Vanilla Ice at random. We all laughed for a good bit about my smack talking, rapping, hip hop dancing, curly headed, dimpled, gluten free little cherub called Layton.

I was driving and laughing and not paying much attention to the flow of traffic. It was only after I peed myself (only a little) from laughing at Layton's Vanilla Ice moment that I realized what had happened. I had been victimized by the Grampy Patrol. Wait, you don't know what the Grampy Patrol is? Passshhhawww. Of course you do. It's a secret circle of elderly drivers whose one mission is to slow down the young, wild cats like me. They go slow, leave blinkers on, change lanes without looking, park across two spaces and drive cars longer than the first house I live in. You know, the Grampy Patrol.


In front of my car and to the right of my car were two members of the elite, inner circle of the Grampy Patrol. Complete with bow ties, snap front hats, and Cadillacs. I can only assume they were leaving Cracker Barrel (that's where all the elite members eat breakfast) when the chance to  enforce the Grampy Patrol creed pulled out in a green Volvo. The inner circle members tend to work together like that. They box you in at 20 mph in a 55 mph zone...in their Cadillacs and Lincolns.

I assume my grandfather was a member of the Grampy Patrol. Outer circle though. He wore a mesh hat, coveralls, and drove a truck. You know the coveralls to which I refer. The one piece kind with 45 feet of snaps up the front. The outer circle members tend to eat breakfast at Hardee's or McDonald's (in groups) and drive trucks or sometimes Empalas. It's the middle circle Grampy Patrol members you really have to worry about. I once got behind one who left his left turn signal blinking for every bit of an hour and a half while going no more than 15 mph on the highway...in his Buick. Buicks are classic middle circle Grampy Patrol. They are the dangerous kind that will put it in drive instead of reverse. Come to think of it. My triple Great Aunt Edith once drove through the front of a jewelry store with a Drive/Reverse error...and I think she had a Buick. Maybe I am a legacy to the Grampy Patrol. Do you think I'll get a letter in the mail once I reach a certain age inviting me to the breakfast circle/strategy meeting? Where was I? Oh, that's right. We were trying to make it to school.

We did not make it to school on time. We missed first bell. And second bell. And had to check in. All because I wanted to buy some damn biscuits and was spotted by Gramps.

Excuse me for a while. I must look at Buicks on the Interwebs.

Why? Because He Can...

Draw your own conclusion. This is just another ordinary moment with my crew.

The View from My Desk...

Right about now the view from my desk is not like this...

I am smack in the middle of tax season, and the view is more stressful than this. W-2s and yellow legal paper cover the area from which I work. It's only four and a half months of craziness each year, but it can seem longer than that sometimes. It will be over soon, and life will go back to being less hurried and strained. I am looking forward to what this year will bring. 

The Face of Annoyed...

I asked Ella for a smile. This is what I got.

I might oughta back up off the camera.

J in a Wig...

From the day she was born, we all thought that Ella looked so much like J. She definitely looks more like he than I. The thing that people said when she was young was that she looks like "J in a wig." As she has gotten older, she has started to resemble me a little bit more, but every now and then I look at her and cannot help but notice how much like J she is. When I saw her playing on Layton's phone (IE J's old iphone that we let Layton have to use as an ipod touch for playing angry birds), I smiled and thought how she even sits like J.

I cannot tell you the number of times I have seen J sit exactly like this with the same amount of concentration on his face. Her whole little person is covered with his mannerisms. It's amazing what DNA can do.

Side Bar: Ella doesn't sleep under her covers very often. She mostly sleeps on top of the covers with a blanket pulled over her. I asked her why. The answer? "You tell me everyday to make up my bed. I don't want to make up my bed, so I sleep on top of the covers." This is soooooooo J. After J heard about that exchange, he said, "You're right. That is exactly something I would do." Mama Kaye said the same thing. DNA. It has to control more than just what we look like. 

Stinky Feet...

This is one of my favorite pictures. The story behind it? That's for another day.

 

Sucka!...

Layton loves Beyblades. He says that it's all about "the spirit of the blader." I have no idea what that means. He does everything he can to get more blades...including convincing Mama Kaye to buy them online. This is what he looks like tricking Mama Kaye into buying more.

Anytime someone caves and buys him more, he says, "Sucka!" It's his word of choice. :) Clearly, we are all suckas...we keep buying him beyblades. 

Biggest to Smallest...For Papa....

The World Through Hadley's Lens...

Random Thoughts and Observations...From the Past Two Weeks...

-I have long suspected that the Walton family signed a deal with the devil. Wal-Mart is my least favorite place on the planet. To be completely honest, I only go in Wal-Mart when I absolutely have to. I'd rather pay more and go somewhere else than find myself by the milk only to realize I forgot deodorant which is 87,000 square acres away. Not to mention all the klassy (oh yes, with a k) individuals one encounters at Wal-Mart in rural Bama. Seriously, even I seem like a socialite compared to some.

-Sometimes I think that my life is the punchline to a joke. I love it.

-Layton didn't want to take his antibiotic and tried to hide the pill in his pants. Seriously. I couldn't help but tweet that I had to tell him "don't put that pill down your pants." Can someone please explain to me why males are born obsessed with their own equipment? I mean, I know the junk is there and all, but I prefer to think of it as a dark, scary basement...I just don't go there...ya know?...

-The Florida millionaire who adopted his girlfriend to protect his wealth...Well, I have to give him credit for thinking outside the box....and at least Florida doesn't prosecute incest of this kind...Note to self: find drunken millionaire to date...I think J would be okay with it. Ha!

-The hubs played the Rook on me earlier this week. Something occurred, and he declared that it shall not make the blog. He's allowed to trump me.

-True story. I was in the kid's bathroom taking care of some business....I was home alone...then I realized there was no toilet paper on the roll...or under the sink...shiz...in more ways than one...I had to clip it and walk like a penguin with my pants around my ankles to the kitchen to retrieve a box of Kleenex because there was no way I was going across the house to my bathroom or out to the garage to get a roll of TP. Admit it; You feel so much better about yourself now that I have confessed this story.

-Yes, I meant actual Kleenex. I was not, in fact, retrieving a generic brand and using the word Kleenex to cover all kinds of tissue the same way Xerox is often used in place of photocopy.

-One of the partners walked up to my desk one day to ask me about a particular client. I had just eaten lunch and had dental floss hanging out of my mouth. No joke, I looked at him with wide eyes and was appalled that I was caught flossing my teeth at my desk after lunch...and then I proceeded to pull the floss out of my mouth...right in front of my employer. It wasn't the best moment I have ever had.

-Also, I went to my favorite deli to get a sandwich for lunch. It was awesome until I walked out of the building and in the opposite direction of my car. I had to turn around and go back to my vehicle. The thing that made it so classically A-Ro was that the sidewalk was packed with people eating outside who witnessed me forgetting where I parked. I tried to play it off, but trust me, there was no making it look cool. I just looked confused. Never mind the fact that I had worked 10.5 hours the day before on top of cooking dinner, washing a load of laundry, sneaking in two glasses of wine, and drafting about 7 tax returns...sometimes I get a little kooky during tax season. This was one of those moments. I was on my cell phone talking to J when I parked at the deli and just plain forgot to notice where I parked.

-Word to ya motha.

Overly Dramatic Faces with E-Ro...

The drama of the E-Ro never ceases.

Just try and stop her.

The World Through Hadley's Lens...

Chuck This...

I have had a longstanding love affair with Chuck Taylor All Star shoes. I have never even owned a pair for myself, but the littles and the big have had countless pairs. Ella's most recent pair looks like this.

How adorbs are those feet?!?!?!!!

Sent From My Droid

Rock, Paper, Scissors....

...and Layton.

Just a Smile to Start the Day...

Still More Ball...

Can we hurry up and get the actual practices going?