Monday, January 25, 2016

November on Facebook

There's nothing like getting an email from your book publisher where the subject line is, "Your Book. And Sex". Well, yes, I'm sure everyone wants those two things on Cyber Monday.

In regards to triceps pull-overs, the fifty pound weight is easily 47 more pounds than the forty pound weight. Something needs to be recalibrated. And I'm pretty sure it's not my wussy arms.

The tree is up, the elf comes bearing gifts, and The Kid is close to head-exploding-excitement. Things I've already gotten her to do without whining (due to Elf presence): brush her hair, clean up the tree prep mess, and drink a full bottle of water.

Putting up a Christmas tree with a 2-year-old is just like putting up a Christmas tree in a mental institution. He wants help but when you help, he screams, snatches the ornaments from the tree, and throws them across the room yelling, "MY PRETTY! MINE!" Well, geez, Gollum. Angry much?

At 8am Saturday morning, if you hit all green lights, it takes less than seven minutes to get to Target from my house. Any other time, it takes ten years and three months. Also, it's ridiculous how giddy I am over the price of gas.

As someone who super sucks at gift giving (and who also HATES shopping), Black Friday is completely baffling to me. Like, I mean, what are you buying? And who are you giving it to? And how do you know that you've gotten a gift that someone else will actually want? See?! Clueless. Gift cards all around.

The Texans are out at the park in full winter gear. It's 65 degrees. P.S. I'm wearing shorts and flip flops.

Dear The Doctor's Office,
If the doctor and nurse don't get here until 9, why do you ask me to be here at 8:30? Because sitting in the waiting room for an extra 30 minutes with two kids is not the most fun I've ever had.
Your Friend,

The good news: as long as The Kid is in the house, we never need an alarm clock. The bad news: as long as The Kid is in the house, we never need an alarm clock.

Happy 2nd birthday today to the one, the only, DARTH TATER. He's shoving cupcakes in his mouth while his mother is rocking back and forth in the corner wondering where her baby went.

The second annual Torture De Husband AKA Family Photo Day is now complete. Much to everyone's disappointment, I am sure, we will NEVER make it as professional models. There is not a photogenic bone in any of our bodies and we can barely follow instructions as to how look more photogenic (head up, chin out, arm behind, weight on back leg, and for the love, tuck in those chins!)

When you want to look special for something and end up looking exactly like you do every other day. I apparently missed the "do yourself up" class at Girl School. Other classes I missed: How to Flirt, How to Pretend I Can't Do Things So a Man Will Do It For Me, How to be Complimentary.

When your kid REALLY wants to be in the talent show at church, but won't do it without her family and her family (bless our hearts) is talent-less. I mean, unless you count making faces like Val Kilmer when he turns into a pig in Willow. I nail that one every. single. time.

Started watching Quantico and I'm sorry, but I have a hard time believing that every, single female FBI agent is as good looking as these ladies. I mean, Miss Congeniality says otherwise. And Sandra Bullock wouldn't lie to me.

I let The Tater pick my mani this week and since he's currently obsessed with cats and dogs, he chose the foxes (he is still undecided as to whether a fox is a feline or a canine and alternately grabs my hands, points and proclaims "doggy" or "kitty" as the mood strikes him). Either way, I doubt you could find anything this cute anywhere in the entire world! ‪#‎fauxfoxjn‬ ‪#‎jamberrynails‬‪#‎nailart‬ ‪#‎imsofancy‬ ‪#‎nailedit‬

Third day in a row a man at the gym has offered to rack my weights (different man every time). Chivalry at it's finest!

Signs that my evil plan is working:
From a kid at church today, "Man! You know everything!"
Mmwwahaha. Fooled him!

Last night, my boss treated our entire office to a shopping spree! In an effort to bring sexy back, I headed to Victoria's Secret for new brassiers. Turns out that when you have to shop in the four-hook-section, you're not so much bringing anything back as just trying to hold everything up (and in). PS I'm pretty sure I work with the most attractive people on the planet.

That time when you get to snuggle a new baby and then give her back to her mother to be changed, fed, and put to sleep while you get to go home. Pretty sure that's the best of both worlds. Delicious.

The Tater, a recent discoverer and therefore, consequent proud owner of boy parts, just weed all over the floor and proudly proclaimed, "Mama! Make the water! Hi, Tater water!"

The role of motherhood I dislike the most: referee. Close second: puke cleaner-upper.

Met a girl today who's calves are roughly the size of mine who mentioned she wore boots over skinny jeans and it was all I could do not to blurt out, "Where on earth do you find boots big enough for your monster calves?!"

Because my car is now fixed, I had peanut butter and jelly for breakfast, there's a BYU game tonight, and Husband is growing a goatee for No-Shave November (I beg him ALL YEAR LONG to grow a goatee for me). BEST DAY EVER!

People: A trapezoid is not a muscle. It is a shape. That is all.

That one time where you thought if you went back to work, you might be able to pay some things off and maybe have a little extra leftover for fun stuff and then both cars break down instead. Bye bye, fun tickets. The dream of you was grand.

Why is it that whenever I tell people my age their first reaction is to be shocked and then proceed to tell me that I look AT LEAST three years younger? Like they're giving me a gift or something. Heads up: looking three years younger than I actually am is not all that great of a compliment. Now if we're talking ten (or eight), we may proceed with the conversation.

Waiting at the brake place for over two hours with a one-year-old? Maybe not the most fun I've ever had. And we still haven't seen the mechanic. Looks like we should have brought lunch and a camp bed.

Two things this Monday: 1. I'm pretty sure every, single time I try to put The Tater into or take him out of the car, people think I'm kidnapping him because he screams so loud. 2. It is apparently a rule that every time I lift weights, I am required to smash at least one of my fingers.

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