Tuesday, April 10, 2012



Do you see this child?

She's precious.

Angelic.

Sent from heaven above.

Which is why I'm absolutely horrified someone has taught her to say the word 'butt'. 

"What's your name?" I ask her.

"Butt," she confidently replies.

"No, it's Camille.  Your name is Camille," I instruct.

"No, butt," she says, a huge grin on her chubby face.

"Butt, butt, butt," she chants all. day. long.

My mom suggested sequestering her from the big kids for the next few years.

Yeah, like that's gonna happen.
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Have you heard this song?  It's my new favorite.   I just love this cute Scotty McCreery.

I've said this prayer he sings about.

Out loud.

Everyday, actually.




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The kids are on a mission to capture every living creature they see.

The problem is, after they catch whatever it is they've noticed, the life expectancy of the being significantly decreases.

I can't imagine why.

The latest find
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While he was 'tinkering' (also know as getting into things he has no business touching) in the garage yesterday, Christopher spilled an entire can of gasoline.

He gallivanted through the house before I realized what he'd done, leaving a trail of gas smelling goodness behind him.

His room smells like gas.

The bathroom smells like gas.

And his petroleum-soaked clothes, shoes, and socks?  You guessed it.  Gas.

Speaking of smells, Mary Bernadette inquired why the family room was particularly fragrant this morning. 

"That's a Glade plug-in.  It helps keep this musty, old house smelling fresh and clean," I answered.

"Ooooooh, I like it.  It's pretty," she replied.

Of course, I should have been alarmed by the fact one of my kids even noticed it smelled good around here.

I also should have noticed the excessive scent hanging in the air myself.  Unfortunately, it wasn't until much later that I realized someone had dumped an entire Glade plug-in onto my Cherrywood end table, thereby infusing the air with pink hibiscus.

But it gets better.

When I went to wipe up the spilled scent, the varnish from the table came with it.

Now, not only do I have an sickeningly sweet odor wafting through the living room, but my coffee table is now ruined.

The Colonel, who has recently discovered wood working as one of his new hobbies, might have just inherited a new refinishing project.

If Christopher smelled like gasoline yesterday, I'm happy to report that today, I smell like a hibuscus infused bush.

Whatever the hell that is.

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I lost 10 pounds during Lent because I gave up sugar.  The goal of the sugar fast was not to loose weight, but it was a positive thing all the same.

The pounds just kind of fell off, especially at the beginning.

Which lead me to wonder:  Do I really eat so many sweets that simply cutting only sugar out of my diet allowed me to loose weight?

Or do I just have a more sluggish metabolism now than I did in my younger years?

After seriously pondering this for oh, about 46 days, I think the answer is I eat too many sweets.

Disgusting.

Simply disgusting.

Now, does anyone know where I hid all that Easter candy?  It's calling my name.

Happy (50!!! days of ) Easter, y'all!

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