I’m really busy trying to figure out how to deal with my four year old saying thee mother of all swear words.
Seriously.
I’m in a mortification spiral.
You know the one that survived the vicious puppy attack of yesterSunday?
I dropped it in a big mug of coffee today.
The End.
I didn’t know the neighbor’s puppy was a reader, but evidently she doesn’t approve of my recent posts about her owners.
Does she honestly think that kind of intimidation will prevent me from blogging the truth?
Wow, you guys really like my neighbors. I do, too! They make me laugh, often supply me with alcohol at the end of the day and help me entertain the boys with their kids’ shenanigans, inflated pool and constant supply of new toys from Target.
The Mrs. and I get along very well — she laughs at my jokes and we discuss raising the kids. She asks for my style/decorating advice, and I get the scoop on the local elementary school.
On Friday, I spent almost the entire afternoon with the mom and two kids. She offered us lunch, and I wasn’t surprised when I chose to eat what the kids were eating (pasta and parmesan) instead of a gluten-free sandwich like the Mrs.
I wasn’t too sure how tasty gluten-free bread would be. I’m not too sure she needs to be gluten-free, but well, whatever. She was deciding what to put on her gluten-free bread and passionately exclaimed “NUTELLA,” which, hello, duh. They recently discovered the chocolate hazelnut goodness courtesy of our Nutella-devoted family! What took them so long?
But then other things ended up on the sandwich, so I sat there in shock as she stacked up this sandwich: Nutella, organic peanut butter, jelly and potato chips. On gluten-free bread. WTF?
And not only that, she seriously exclaimed “I can’t believe how good for you Nutella is, although it’s probably got a lot of fat!” That wacky Mrs!
Back to The Sandwich. What other awful sandwich combos have you seen eaten? One of my friend’s grandfather’s daily consumes a lettuce, peanut butter and mayo sandwich. *Shudder*
So my neighbor who almost burned down his house isn’t having such a great week.
Yesterday, he took his 10 year old son and 4 month old puppy fishing. He didn’t think to prevent the puppy from swimming in the pond where they were fishing, and I think you know what happens next. Yup, he caught his own dog.
At this rate, he’s well on his way to getting his own Category. That’s right. How often does that happen? Usually to get your own category you have to marry me or squeeze out my hoo-ha! Lucky neighbor!
I think I should also set up a video camera. Good idea, yes?
Last night, while Mr. Squirrel watched the burgers on the grill, he grabbed the kids’ lacrosse stick and tossed the ball against the garage. I’ve nagged him about breaking one of the sixteen panes of glass one of these days.
Yesterday was thee day.
But not 15 minutes later, our neighbor, also grilling, almost burned his house down. So, the broken pane of glass just seems so whatever.
And that’s todays excuse for not blogging. Have I already posted this picture of The Nugget? I can’t get enough of him. Seriously, how could you complain if I have already posted this picture?!
It’s so hot. Oh yes, that’s another excuse. Why am I here sweating under this laptop instead of reading my Entertainment Weekly in the guest room (where our air conditioner is)? We would move the air conditioner to the master bedroom, but it’s too damn hot to lug it upstairs. Our bed is also completely blanketed in clean clothes from our vacation that I haven’t put away yet.
I’m hoping to put the house in order again and get back to routine tomorrow. Eventually I’ll post pics of us out in Cape Cod and maybe even throw you one of the Flower Boys in their aunt’s wedding! Nugget was uber adorable when he reached the front, snuggled up to Jojo, then turned and ran back down the aisle (well, and then he screamed when he realized we weren’t there).
OK, I’m baking under this laptop and really don’t want a heat rash where it’s sitting…
Mr. Squirrel said that I could not blog about the ridiculously red and swollen sty on his upper eyelid.
So I won’t.
But OH MY OUCH is it gross! And I can’t stop noticing it and laughing about it, because he was just oblivious to it. So maybe it’s not a sty, because, if you’ve ever had a sty, then you know they hurt like a mofo. And yes, mofo’s hurt. Like a mofo. Which is kind of ironic. Or is it not ironic, and I’m being all Alanis about irony? I’m kind of afraid to examine that.
So let’s just leave it at this: I cannot blog about the red, swollen seemingly painful possible sty on my husband’s eye. The end.
You don’t want to buy some of these for your single friends?!
Or did I just let the cat outta the bag that my friends partake in some premarital sex? I mean, I guess my committed/married friends could use them, but we already know the goods.
I just think they’re hilarious.
Me: Jojo, don’t wipe things on the couch.
Jojo: It’s just boogers.
Please note: This photo does not really relate to the conversation shown above. It’s just a cute picture of Jojo holding a duckling/chicklingthingy.
