There's a new baby in our neeeeeighborhood!
Sharing a property line practically makes me a proud aunt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm loving my potty breaks throughout the day. With my bathroom window open I am blessed with a serenade of bees humming through the raspberry patch. If more bees means an abundant crop and sweet flavor, it's going to be an amazing August! Potty break over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On a hectic evening I quickly grabbed a meal from our food storage options. The picture on the package looked satisfying, even yummy, and we were all hungry. The final product was not at all the vision of gourmet goodness displayed on the package and the flavor was disgusting! I will admit that back in my farm days I once licked a salt block before giving it to the calves. This pale brown blob tasted similar but was worse!
The Ala King looked, tasted and smelled more like Ala Puking! Perhaps I should store salt blocks instead.
One bite and Justin choked out, I'd rather be eaten by zombies than eat that! Apparently, he believes our food storage is for the inevitable zombie apocalypse.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Soccer for seven year olds is basically glorified recess. I paid money to freeze through it every Saturday.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Potty training is going great!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm pretty open about my distaste for shopping. All that wandering among hundreds and hundreds of racks to pick several hopeful garments; the taking off and putting on clothes MULTIPLE TIMES; and then the reminder that I am in my 40's and everything I have in my dressing room was meant for my body of 20 years ago; followed by the static hair and clothing burns from taking off and putting on so much fabric. I can live without it. But, I won't live naked (you're welcome world) so I make myself do it.
Then there is bra shopping. I've put it off for weeks; suffering through the broken under wire that is beginning to leave it's mark on my under-boob and wishing I could stretch the band wide enough to fit my expanding body frame so that it will quit rubbing my mole raw. It's not as simple as taking measurements and picking up the right size. Again, it's taking off ALL my upper clothes (my skin hurts just thinking about it) and putting on an overpriced piece of fabric and fluff, dressing again, looking in the mirror to find torpedoes pointing at me and hoping when I said "where in the h&!! did those come from?" that I didn't say it out loud. Next bra . . . clothes off, lift saggers into cups, clothes on, mirror . . . arm pit fat. Each bra shocks me anew as I face the mirror: back fat; peaks reaching for my chin; lack of support sadly drooping to my belly.
Make. It. Stop!
I'm beginning to think fourteen year old me had it right. Just tape them down and pretend they don't exist.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Smitten, I am!
No comments:
Post a Comment