Weekly Rundown
I just love this picture.
In case you missed it, Monday I did nothing.
Tuesday I was sharing some of the best tweets on the web, talking cleanses and popping tags. Don’t know what the hell I’m talking about? Find out here.
Wednesday’s word was Flapdoodle. Know it. Use it. But use it sparingly. It really doesn’t make you sound too smart.
Thursday I wrote a post about how I almost died but instead lived to tell the tale about one of the most frantic, crazy days, which seems to be occurring at fairly regular intervals since having children (about 12 years ago and I’m getting a little bit sick of it.) Why can’t these kids raise their own damn selves?
Oh, and, last week I put out an open call for your Best Worst Stories after the response I received from my Love Hurts post wherein I thought I was going to Tahiti but all I was going to was a bridal shower (I cannot tell you the damage that does to your psyche). And I have to say I am very disappointed. I got some good ones but not a ton. C’mon, people. You can do better than that.
Okay, that’s it for me. Happy Friday, and have a wonderful, fantastic, stupendous weekend, or at least a bottle of wine & some shut eye. That’s all we can hope for these days. I’ll be hosting two little rug rats this afternoon (one for each kid so that they can have a charmed, spectacular, never-ending fun-fest life), and if I survive I’ll talk to ya on Monday. Lord help me.
Peace out.
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photo credit: Chris Devers via photopin cc
One Funny Motha 
Sounds like you need some positive affirmation on the child front: Kids are tender and sweet… particularly when cooked properly.
I’ll have to get your recipe.
Well it’s Monday. Did you survive? I , on the other hand, insulted my next door neighbor girlfriend so that she can forever remember that the first time she cried after having just given birth to her first child will have been because of me! So happy I could make your weekend look better. Your welcome.
That does make me feel a bit better. What happened?
They (she/hubby) are always over at our house- eating, gabbing, drinking, etc. We are GOOD friends- all of us. They (in their mid-thirties) just had their first baby. They were eating and drinking with us (baby included in another room) last night. I made a corned beef Irish feast. OK. After dinner, I moved into the kitchen, put on the exhaust fan and lit one up (ciggy- that is). She asked me if I could smoke outside from now on- outside my OWN HOUSE. I stood there speechless, then turned, and said, “you want me to smoke outside of my own home, while your here in my house, at my table, eating my food? And the baby’s in the other room, and I have the fan on?” I turned and walked outside. And sat in the dark by myself. Outside my own home. She left thru the back door, carrying the baby, crying. Oh SHIT!
I am so excited to have found your blog. Detached parenting? Brilliant!
Thank you & me too.