Perpetually Peeved


10 Things I learned in Texas

1.  Cockroaches and scrunchies.  When the world is over and the rest of us have been nuked to smithereens, there will still be cockroaches and scrunchies.

We can only pray that all the pink sundresses burn in the infernos.

2.  Not everyone can be good at geography.

Now I know why when people ask me where I'm from and I say "Long Island" they say - "Oh, New Jersey?" And, um, P.S. it's shaped like a fish, not a loaf of bread you accidently loaded the milk on top of.

 

3.  I am in Texas, right?  I thought you could carry a gun to Kindergarten in Texas.

Does the NRA know about this? Get Heston on the line, pronto.

4.  Cowboy boots are cool (and so am I).

Text exchange between me & Biggie…

Peeved:  I’m in Texas, what kind of souvenir do you want?

Biggie:  Cool Texas.  Bring me back either a v-neck t-shirt or some other cool thing

Peeved:  Cowgirl hat?

Biggie:  Nooooooo.  I have one. ummmm a cool back pack or something.

Biggie:  No…  I want a cute pair of heels!

Peeved:  How about a bright yellow pair of cowgirl boots?

Biggie:  Yes please.

Peeved:  Would you really wear them?

Biggie: Heck Yes.

Peeved:

Biggie:  Amazing!  I would so wear them.

Peeved:  You know I picked them out, right?  And that I think they’re cool, right?  Biggie…  This is MY daughter, Biggie, right?…

5.  Yep, everything is bigger in Texas all right.

Yes, folks, it is possible for a Shar-Pei and a human to breed. Put. It. Away.

6.  No, they are not paying you enough to wear that outfit.

At first I thought it was just your average atrocity. Then, I realized it was a uniform at one of those tourist dens down on the Riverwalk. Honey... ask for a raise. You certainly ain't going to make a living on tips in that getup.

7.  These people are one degree and five steps away from going rabid and ripping each others carotids out.

A) It’s 100 degrees outside

B) They have no stroller

C) They are wearing blue jeans

D) They are on a “family” vacation

I would have hung around for the show, but I didn’t want to get blood on my good shoes.

8.  It is actually possible to get sick of Mexican food.

There are only so many enchiladas a person can eat. Margaritas, on the other hand, I could drink for breakfast, lunch & dinner.

9.  Even the most comfortable shoes suck after an hour of walking.

These boots may be made for walking, but none of my shoes were. Thank goodness I brought the Pumas!

10.  Hot goose poop rivals two-day dead skunk for most offensive odor on the planet.

It only looks idyllic and odor-free.

For those of you who have been worried about me – thank you.  Smalls’ starts Kindergarten in a month, Biggie got a Facebook page and God finally gave us a puppy.  I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of me in the near future.  😉



You’re kidding me, right?

I don’t usually pay much mind to the Golden Globe nominations, but earlier today someone posted a prediction poll. Out of curiosity, I checked it out. Of all the movies nominated, I had seen three. Inception, Despicable Me, and… Burlesque. Yes, Burlesque. Here’s something to vote on: what is worse? A) the fact that I saw Burlesque in the theater, or B) the fact that the Golden Globes nominated it without even the excuse of an adamant sister and the bribe of a few beers?

Grease? Yes. Chicago? Yes. Moulin Rouge? Hell yes. Burlesque? Bob Fosse just sashayed in his grave.

Tonight, having been ousted from my room by a Care Bear Movie infatuated four-year-old and booted off the computer by a boy infatuated twelve-year-old, I decided to indulge in a little guilty pleasure: House Hunters International. Don’t judge. At least I don’t yell at the TV like my mom does when the idiots pick the wrong house. Besides, it could be worse… last night it was Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Oy vey! Anywho… I’m minding my own business and out of nowhere – BAM! – exactly how low we as Americans have stooped slaps me in the face. Vanilla Ice has his own show. No, wait. Vanilla Ice has his own home improvement show. Bob Villa just turned over in his grave.

What? He’s not dead yet? Did you hear that? (dun dun dun dun na na na…) That’s him putting the finishing touches on his custom coffin and getting the table saw ready.

Lord help us all.



Rainy Days and Tuesdays Always Get Me Peeved

It’s raining here.  It has been all day.

It’s Tuesday, too.  It has been all day.  Tuesdays are like the 20th birthday of the workweek.  Not quite humpday – so what’s the point?

Rain means that everyone drives like a douchebag hopped up on coffee and diet pills.  Guess what?  Everyone is going to be late.  Now stop honking, stop trying to cut me off and, for the love of puppies, stop riding your brakes.

We don’t need to revisit my umbrella issues, do we?  Umbrellas are to me what picture books are to Stevie Wonder.  Absolutely useless.  Smalls’ daycare doesn’t have covered parking.  What’s worse than driving home in rainy rush hour traffic?  Driving home in rainy rush hour traffic with wet pants slapping around on your ankles, a full bladder and a lightening strike that sends all the traffic lights in a 5 mile radius out of commission.  Oh, and a four-year-old singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer at the top of her lungs.  Over, and over, and over again.

Remember that great scene with Kathy Bates’ character in Fried Green Tomatoes?  You know the one where she just guns it into the snotty girl’s car?  Hmm, if only.

This is me today. (photo from some random site that just happened to have a pic of grumpy bear - http://www.datavis.com)



The phone! The phone is ringing!

What sound is more annoying than an unanswered phone?  Okay, besides your kids whining, your mother-in-law bitching (not mine, love her!), or a car alarm going off for an hour?

Not many, let me tell you.  So, this morning I go into work, I’m drinking my coffee and getting settled for the day – and I hear it – RING! RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: [The phone! The phone is ringing! – ah, shit.  Now, I’m going to have that song in my head all day]  Who’s phone is that?

RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: (to co-worker) Do you hear that?  Is that your phone?

Co-Worker: No.  I don’t hear anything.

Peeved: Come here.  Do you hear it now?  I think it’s in that empty office next to mine. You know, the one with the incense that smells like a geriatric’s bathroom.

RING! RING! RING!

Co-Worker: (with ear up against empty office door)  No.  I don’t think so.  It does freaking smell, though.

Peeved: It’s got to be somewhere.  Come in my office.  It’s like it gets louder.

Co-Worker: It’s definitely louder in here.  It sounds like it’s coming out of the air duct.  Maybe someone is stalking you and forgot their phone.

RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: Yeah, I can just picture someone walking around their house calling and looking for their phone.

Co-Worker: Maybe it’s in the hallway.  It’s definitely louder back here by your desk.

Peeved: [The phone! The phone is ringing!…. GD it!  ANSWER THE PHONE ALREADY!]  I’m going to look in the hallway.

***

RING! RING! RING!

***

Co-Worker: So?

Peeved: Nothing in the hallway.  I think someone is trying to torture me.

Co-Worker: This is so weird.

Peeved: I’m going to have BossLady open that empty office.  It’s got to be coming from there.

***

Peeved: Hey, BossLady, would you mind coming and opening the office next to me?  Someone’s phone is ringing incessantly and I’m going to go bonkers!

RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: Do you hear that?  It’s been going on for like 20 minutes.  Seriously.  I’m going to lose it.

BossLady: (opening office door)  Nope, not in here… but DAMN! it stinks in here.  I have to talk to her about this.

Peeved: That is SO WEIRD!  Come here in my office… doesn’t it sound like it’s right in here…  oh… um… wouldn’t it be funny if it were my phone?

BossLady: Please tell me you’re joking.

Peeved: Oops.

Guess who's the turkey this Thanksgiving! (photo from igourmet.com)

 



When good intentions go bad

I think whether parenthood is something planned or not, that most people go into it with good intentions.  When people find out they are going to become parents they secretly think they are going to be the best parent ever. 

Our parents?  They knew nothing.  I mean, they let us run around until the streetlights turned on.  We would drive hours on the interstates with no seat belts and at least one sibling lying across the hump on the floor of the car.  Baby teething?  Slip him some whiskey.  Teenager backtalking?  Feed her some soap.  Broke your arm?  Quit crying or I’ll break the other one. 

Yeah, I think most people’s’ visceral reaction to finding out they are going to have a child is, “I’m going to do it so much better than my parents did.”

So, what the heck happens?

photo from belch.com

Not too long ago, I was at the zoo with Biggie and Smalls.  A lot of people had those cute little monkey leash backpacks for their children.  Which, I will be honest, I’m not a huge fan of.  I mean, call me old-fashioned, but I just always held my kid’s hand or strapped them in the stroller.  That wasn’t my problem, though.  I understand why people have them.  It’s a scary thing to bring a non-verbal, squirmy toddler out to a crowded place where they could disappear in a heartbeat.  I get it.  I still watch my 12-year-old go to the top of the driveway to get the mail.  The thing that made me literally bite my tongue was the sight of a mother dragging her toddler behind her.  Pulling away like she was towing a wagon or something.  Um, lady, you dropped something.  Oh wait, that’s YOUR KID!  Cripies!  I’m thinking she didn’t see a little pink plus sign on a stick and think, “I’m going to be the best mom ever.  When little Timmy gets tired at the zoo, I won’t rent him a stroller, I’ll use my super-mommy strength to drag his ass from cage to cage.”

Hmm... I wonder why Timmy can't focus in school.

I was getting Smalls into the car at her daycare one day and was having a conversation with a woman who had a young son (about 4 years old or so).  She was complaining about how he just wouldn’t sit still and he wouldn’t stop talking and he can’t pay attention to anything for more than a few seconds.  As she’s saying this, she is loading him into a carseat positioned directly in front of a 10 inch DVD screen which she promptly turns on (with her remote start button).  “It’s just so difficult,” she shouts over the cries of the Wiggles, “is it possible for a four-year old to be diagnosed with ADD?”  No, darling, it isn’t any more possible than diagnosing his mother with a bad case of stupidity.

Clean up on Aisle 9!

See that angelic four-year-old holding on fiercely to a freshly Clorox-Wipe’d shopping cart, minding her own business, humming a song for her mommy?  Okay, now see that hooligan child lying on the ground kicking over the end cap display with her feet and mopping the dirty linoleum with her hair?  Okay, now see that lady halfway across the store, seemingly by herself minding her own business and shopping?  Isn’t she doing a great job of ignoring the toneless WA HA WA HA WA HA fake ambulance sound emitting from the mophead?  She’s not even looking around like I was to see where in the world the little critter’s mother was.  Hmmm…  she must be shopping for mirrors. 

And the nominees for Mother of the Year are…



Forces of Nature

Contrary to popular belief, I do not actually enjoy shopping.  Every once in a while, I can appreciate some retail therapy, but there has to be a “perfect storm” of conditions in order for this to happen.  

photo from weather.about.com

  1.  I have to be alone.  Absolutely alone.  With nowhere to be at any specific time.  And, very poor cell phone reception.
  2. I cannot be shopping for anything in particular.  I am known for creating items that do not exist and then getting peeved when I can’t find them in the stores.
  3. I have to be shopping for myself.
  4. Budget?  What budget?
  5. It has to be on a “skinny” day.  You know, those magical days when the scale says you lost 2 pounds in your sleep.
  6. My hair has to look good.
  7. I have to get an amazing deal on at least one item.
  8. 7  out of 10 items I try on have to fit.
  9. I must have a frothy, chocolatey, caffeinated beverage.  And, even some biscotti to dip in it.
  10. I have to purchase at least one pair of shoes.

Rarely, very rarely, does this “perfect storm” occur.  The closest I get is DSW shoe warehouse on my lunch hour and that’s only because I’m a DSW rewards member (hello coupons!), my feet don’t Benedict Arnold me like my waistline does, and there’s a fudge shoppe right next door.  

shoeblog.com

 This weekend, I needed to get fall clothes for Smalls.  Not that it is getting any cooler down here in the South (97 degrees last night at 6pm), but there were some good sales going on and I had some free time.  My sister had a 30% off coupon at Kohl’s and convinced me to meet up with her to go shopping for the kids.  Hmm…  Me, my two kids, her, her daughter…  maybe I should just skip it… but, it’s 30% off… and, I could always spend the money I saved on some shoes…  okay, what the heck! 

Now, up until this point, I have always refered to my sister as AJenda on this blog.  However, for this post, I feel the need to reveal her true identity.  The real nickname behind the nickname.  In my family, I am referred to as “Emma Dilemma,” “Dilemma,” or “that bitch.”  My sister has always been referred to as “Hurricane Jen.”  She comes on strong, with little or no warning.  When you think it’s over, she’s really only half-way done.  When she actually is done, you’re standing around looking at the disaster area.  She’s also a lot of fun when you’re drinking and the damage is happening to someone else.  Stores do not stand a chance against the Hurricane.  When she is shopping, she is trying on everything in the store.  I have been in dressing rooms with her where they literally are shutting the lights off and locking us in and she’s breaking out the keychain flashlight and trying to see how the last two pairs of jeans look.  

Why can't all hurricanes be like this? PS - I'm so tracking down the stemless glass. Love it.

Me, I’m more of a tsunami shopper.  I’m in and I’m out.  Quick, like that.  I take what I want and I drag it back out with me.  No lolly-gagging, no agonizing over decisions.  I want it, I buy it.  I don’t want it, I don’t put it in the cart.  You can see how it’s probably not a good idea for my sister and I to go shopping together.  I’m usually hanging up the clothes after she has tried them on and whining, “can we go now?” 

I figured this time though, we were shopping for the kids, it couldn’t be that bad.  And, it wouldn’t have been.  

***** 

Hurricane: [via text message to Peeved]:  Headed to Kohl’s right now.  Where are you?  Brace yourself, hurricane Granny is hot on our trail. 

Peeved: [blissfully unaware of text message]  Smalls, do you like this shirt? 

Smalls:  No, too stripey. 

Peeved:  How about this shirt? 

Smalls:  No, too spotty. 

Peeved:  Well, you need to pick some shirts. 

Smalls:  Well, I don’t like any of these. 

Peeved:  How about this one? 

Smalls:  Nope. 

Peeved:  This one? 

Smalls:  Nope.  Look, mommy!  Hamster pajamas! 

Peeved:  You don’t need pajamas. 

Smalls:  Hamster pajamas!! 

Peeved:  I’ll only get you the hamster pajamas if you start picking some shirts you like. 

Smalls:  Okay. 

Hurricane: [via text message to Peeved]:  We’re here… can’t find you… did you seek shelter from the storm? 

Peeved:  [putting hamster pajamas in cart, still blissfully unaware of text messages] Okay, how about this shirt? 

Smalls:  Yep.  [You guessed it, Smalls is a Lightening Storm shopper.] 

Except, noisier.

Peeved:  This one? 

Smalls:  Too flowery. 

Peeved:  Oh, how cute!  Look at his one. 

Smalls:  Nope. 

Peeved:  Smalls, we made a deal.  No hamster pajamas if you don’t pick some shirts. 

Smalls:  I did pick a shirt.  That one. 

Peeved:  Well, you need more than one shirt. 

Smalls:  So, get the same shirt in different colors, then.  Aunt Hurricane!! 

Peeved:  Oh, thank goodness.  Can you please suggest shirts to her?  I can’t get her to say yes to anything I pick. 

Hurricane:  Sure, hey – did you get my… 

Smalls:  Granny!!! 

Peeved:  Wha? 

Hurricane: … texts?  I tried to warn you. 

***** 

What’s the mother of all storms, people?  You guessed it.  Tornado Granny.  Tornado Granny is like a hurricane in that she comes on quick without any warning, except the destruction isn’t left spread all over the place, it’s been completely lifted away and relocated.  Granny hits the clearance racks like tornados target trailer parks.  Everything starts in the cart, but inevitably is put back before she gets to the checkout lane.  It’s like a weird form of tactile window shopping.  Also like a tornado, Granny disappears just as fast as she appears. 

***** 

[literally 3 hours into the shopping trip] 

Peeved:  You got everything? 

Hurricane:  Yep, I’m good to go. 

Peeved:  Sweet, let’s get out of here. 

Hurricane:  Yeah, the game starts soon and I’m starving. 

Peeved:  I feel like I swallowed a ShamWow! and my feet are about to fall off. 

Hurricane:  I hear ya.  Where’s mom? 

Peeved:  I don’t know.  I thought you knew? 

Hurricane:  Oh shit, we lost her.  Call her. 

Biggie:  She probably bailed again. 

Mini-Hurricane:  Yeah, she’s been known to do that! 

Peeved:  [calling Tornado on her cell phone] Ma, where are you? 

Tornado:  You know that completely hidden fitting room that you never would have looked for me in?  I’m hiding out in there.  Don’t tell your sister, she’ll make me put back all my clearance clothes

Peeved:  Found her.  Come on, guys. 

***** 

As predicted, Hurricane tried to talk Tornado out of her white-trash finery, carrying in clothes by the armful.  Guess who was left putting them all back on the hangers and saying, “Can we go now?!”  The children were taking turns pretending they were sad puppies up for adoption, hiding inside the rack of track pants, and having their mom paged over the PA system. 

Two very long hours later, we did finally get out of there.  Not before Biggie had an avalanche inspired melt-down because I wouldn’t by her 3-inch hot pink patent leather and zebra striped heels, though.  Gosh, I’m the worst mom ever.  Didn’t you know? 

I finally crawled into the storm shelter of my couch, called the Red Cross for a beer IV and tried to avoid any further disasters.  The only Perfect Storm I would be getting would be ordered through Netflix and starring George Clooney.  Mmm…. George Clooney.  That’d make everything better. 



10 things I learned from camping…

1.  Ants bite.  

Upon our arrival to the campground, Mr. Peeved set about getting a fire started, Biggie grabbed her chair and fishing pole (coordinating colors, of course) and headed to the “beach,” Smalls found the nearest downed tree and started to climb all over it, and I set about unloading the car and hauling all our stuff 50 feet down a 45 degree slope covered in loose rocks.  Just as I was taking my third slide down the hill with provisions, I hear an ear-piercing screech.  Smalls, who was playing nicely by herself (this should have been the first warning sign something bad would happen) had been bitten by ants.  

Smalls:   EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  

Peeved:  Okay, Smalls, let me see. It can’t be that bad.  It will be fine, I’ll kiss it.  

Mr. Peeved:  It’s an ant bite.  Those are the worst.  They hurt like hell.  

Smalls:   EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  

Peeved:  It’s okay.  It will be fine.  That’s not an ant bite – it’s not a little white bubble.  It looks just like a mosquito bite.  

Mr. Peeved:  It’s not a red ant bite, it’s a regular ant bite.  Those are worse.  

Smalls:   EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  I got bit by an ant!!  EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!   It hurts worse than a red ant bite!!!  

Peeved:  Maybe that’s not helping, Mr. Peeved.  Smalls, mommy has lotion, let me put some lotion on it.  

Mr. Peeved:  That’s not going to work.  Do you have that after-bite stuff?  

Peeved:  No, I have bug spray, sunblock and lotion.  

Smalls:   EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I need the bite stuff!  

Mr. Peeved:  We are going to have to cancel the trip if you don’t fix it.  Don’t bother putting up the tent yet.  Can you go to the store and see if they have that stuff?  

Smalls:   EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I want to go home!  I hate camping!  EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!   

Well, something tells me this has happened before because the campsite store was fully stocked with after bite lotion.  A few dabs of that, an hour of coddling and a Coca-Cola later, Smalls was off fishing with her sister.  I put up the tents, inflated the air mattresses, put out the chairs and lost 3 pounds of water weight while Mr. Peeved made the most perfect camp fire, ever (or at least, that’s what I’m told).   

2.  It’s all fun and games until you run out of clean clothes and marshmallows.  

This cartoon and a bunch of other totally awesome cartoons can be found on this site: http://www.nataliedee.com. Think I found a new source of entertainment!

Around 7:30 pm on the day of our arrival, we were almost out of marshmallows and, aside from pajamas, almost completely out of clean clothes.  Apparently, after bite and Coca-Cola don’t do much to improve a nap-missing 4-year-old’s disposition.  Smalls spent most of the afternoon throwing rocks at the ducks and stomping off into the woods when we tried to talk to her.  Finally, when the first signs of dusk started settling in, we decided it was time for the kiddo to hit the air mattress for the night.  Smalls melted down faster than a marshmallow hit by a blow torch.   

Smalls:  I don’t want a smores pie!  I don’t like graham crackers!  I don’t want just marshmallows!  I just want marshmallows and chocolate!  No, not like that!  I want marshmallows and melted chocolate, but no bread or crackers!  Mommy!  Biggie is eating my smores pie!!!!  WaaaaaaaaawaaaaaaaWaaaaawaaaa!   

Squirrels scurried off like roaches when you turn on the light.  Nature wants nothing to do with a whiny, screaming preschooler and neither do I.  So, I do what any resourceful mother would do – fling her over my shoulder, strap her in the car and try to drive around until she falls asleep.  

Smalls:  You left Biggie and Daddy! They’re all alone!  Turn around! Turn around!  You can’t leave them!  

Peeved:  I wonder if the campsite store has Benadryll…  

Smalls:  Hey, maybe they have marshmallow and chocolate ice cream.    

3.  Tents were invented by the Department of Torture.  

They make it look so easy.... (www.coleman.com)

4.  The ability to fish is not genetic.  

spicy, crispy minnows... who knew?allthaicooking.com

The only time I ever caught a fish growing up was when I was sitting on the dock and got up to move farther down the way.  Completely coincidentally, just as I stood up, a fish bit my line and I “caught” it.  Yes, we can add fishing to the long list of things I’m not good at – right after cooking and just before passing driving tests.  Biggie did not inherit this gene.  She caught six fish.  Granted, they were all slightly larger than minnows, but still it was quite an accomplishment given her DNA.   

One would think that the children would want to throw the poor little fishes that were too small to eat back into the lake.  Not my kids.  

Mr. Peeved:  Okay, we have to let them go now.  

Biggie:  No!  You said we could eat what we caught!  

Mr. Peeved:  There is no meat on this fish, Biggie.  

Smalls:  Daddy!  You said we could eat them!  I wanted to cut its head off!  

Biggie:  Yeah, and I was going to gut it!  

Guess you could say the kids like to eat.  That, they may have gotten from their mother.  

5.  Everything tastes better with white bread.  

Next time you go camping, buy yourself one of these babies! vtarmynavy.com

Smores pies, ham & cheese pies, salami & cheese pies, steak & egg pies, cherry pies, pizza pies…. I could go on in the spirit of Bubba Gump all day.  

6.  It’s okay to ban technology for two days.  

  

I turned off my iphone for two whole days.  Guess what?  No one suffered except my ego.  Apparently, I’m NOT that important.  

7.  The firmness of an air mattress is directly proportional to the heftiness of your bed mate.  

What this picture doesn’t show is the way the poor lady gets catapulted to the other side of the tent when her husband climbs on to the air mattress.  What it also fails to capture is the way her ass goes slamming into the ground in the morning when he gets up to pee.  

8.  Children who can’t read also have trouble listening. 

 

There were “no swimming” signs posted all along the shore of the lake.  This, of course, meant nothing to Smalls because unlike those phonetics phenoms you see on the TV at 6 in the morning, she can’t read.  Apparently, reading and listening go hand in hand.  I told Smalls she was not allowed to go in the lake unless she wore her water shoes, rolled up her pants and stayed on the opposite side from where her sister was fishing.  I may as well have written it on a sign for all that she paid attention to me. 

Smalls:  [skipping barefoot in the “fishing section” of the lake with her pants soaked up to her underwear]  What, mommy?  I didn’t hear you. 

Peeved:  Smalls, I said it five times.  Put your listening ears on. 

Smalls:  Oh, sorry.  What did you say?  la la la…. [skipping barefoot in the “fishing section” of the lake with her pants soaked up to her underwear]  

9.  Nothing makes a 12-year-old happy. 

Peeved:  C’mon Biggie, we’re going exploring. 

Biggie:  Ugh, I don’t want to go.  I’m busy.  I’m fishing here, mom. 

Peeved:  Okay, stay here.  We’re going to the campsite store.  Smalls, you want to see if they have ice cream? 

Smalls:  Let’s go! 

Biggie:  Gosh, you guys can’t even wait for me to get my shoes on?  You’re so rude! 

***** 

Biggie:  Is that a pool?  Is it open? 

Peeved:  Yes, but I didn’t know it was here, so you don’t have a bathing suit. 

Biggie:  I can’t believe you forgot our bathing suits. 

***** 

Biggie:  Oh my gosh!  They have slushies.  Mom, can I have a slushie? 

Peeved:  Sure, but that’s it.  One treat.  Either ice cream or slushie. 

Biggie:  Okay, thanks mom. 

Peeved:  You’re welcome. 

Biggie: [sipping on slushie at check out stand]  Oh!  Mom!  They have sour straws!  Please, please, please? 

Peeved:  No, Biggie.  You got your treat. 

Biggie:  Come on!  You are so mean! 

**** 

[pout, moan, whine, repeat x5] 

**** 

[checking out at the campsite store later that night] 

Peeved:  Mr. Peeved, can you get those sour straws for the girls for the ride home, please? 

Mr. Peeved:  Sure. 

Biggie:  Yay!  Sour straws. 

Smalls:  Sour straws! 

Biggie:  I am not sharing with her. 

Peeved:  Yes, you are. 

***** 

[chomp, chomp, gobble, gobble for all of about 5 seconds] 

Peeved:  Are you done with those already? 

Biggie:  Yes, because I had to share them.  And, I can’t believe you didn’t bring our bathing suits! 

10.  You should always unpack your camping gear immediately after arriving home. 

 

 

This was on the ceiling of my car this morning.  Good thing I’m not a complete arachnaphobe!  I have a good friend that’s probably doing the heeby-jeeby dance just looking at it (hey – you made the blog!).  Smalls thought it was “cute” and wanted to name her Charlotte.  I guess it’s better than a gerbil or a dog…




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