Did I Shave my Legs for This?

You know your life has changed when "shave day" has become the new invite for romance. When I was a teenager I don't remember shaving being such a scarce or important thing. But I found myself texting my husband the other day, flirtatiously: It's a shave day ;)



Can't forget the winky face!



Hair, although tolerable for both myself and Bobby, doesn't create an ideal ambiance. I think Bobby is okay with stubble, I am speaking on his behalf. I never had a complaint. But after a fresh shave you feel like a million bucks! Maybe it's a generational thing. I don't know if anyone past the age of 40 even reads this to verify.



It seems as though shave days are getting fewer and far between. Perhaps I am getting old, and that is the natural progression. Perhaps its the fact that I don't have a few extra minutes in the shower, when I know the clock is ticking and there are kids to dress and places to go. The legs and other areas take a back seat.



It seems I have developed a shave schedule, where I know to set aside time for this daunting task. Fridays are always a designated shave day. If I haven't squeezed time in during the week, Fridays are a mandatory, get out-your-razor day.



There have been a few occasions where we have missed the romance on a shave day. We woke the next morning, after falling asleep, with looks of disappointment upon our faces. Dang it! How did we waste a perfectly good shave day?! Did I shave my legs for this??!!



I guess we will have to settle for uncomfortable, hair growing back which feels like pins and needles, stubble romance day. See, it doesn't have the same ring as shave day!

Moving into the Car

Isn't she a beauty?

It is that time of year when life just gets so crazy. The schedule is full and we are busy practically every day of the week. And one thing seems to get neglected...our old faithful red Saturn Vue. It is currently ransacked. We live out of our car for the following months and I am so exhausted by the time I get home, instead of cleaning it out daily, I just pile the car up with more crap the next day.

I am not proud of the way we treat her and as a matter of fact it is embarrassing if anyone has to ride in my car. I always have to explain, "I live out of this thing, excuse the mess." I am so jealous of people with neat cars, and wonder how with kids, this is even possible.

Bobby is coaching Bryce's baseball team, Leah is in dance, I am still running PTA and try to fit in frequent trips to the gym. Not to mention most of our activities are on the opposite side of town from where we live so once I am gone for the day, I don't make trips back home to get the things I need. It gets pack up in the beginning of the day.

The usual can be found in my car all at once:

Baseball equipment for a team of 13: tee, helmets, gloves, bases

Bryce's baseball bag

Leah's dance shoes

Extra shoes for after dance

Extra clothes for "accidents"

Extra socks for the kids club at the gym (required)

Gym gloves

Ipod

Kleenex

Band aids

Snacks

Waters

PTA folders, money, papers, projects

Antibacterial gel

Old fast food cups and trash

Crumbs

Toys, toys and more toys

Books

DVD players and DVD's

Mail

Makeup

My purse

GPS system

Water bottle and comb to fix the kids hair

etc, etc, etc.....

Basically we use and abuse her but she has been such a great, functional car. We bring home lumber and our Christmas trees in her. I can load furniture in her for my various decorating projects. One day I am gonna get my act together and detail her and fine tune everything. She deserves it...

Penis Breast

Driving home today from the gym (yep, that's right, I'm back on that kick) Leah says, "Mom I want penis breast!"

I said, "WHAT??!?!??"

"I want penis breast!"

"Leah I can't understand what you are saying, "Penis breast?!"

"No, mom penis breast." She keeps saying it faster instead of clearer.

I am stumped until Bryce comes to the rescue. "Mom, she wants Panda Express!"

Leah confirms, "Yeah mom , penis breast."

Oh thank God!!!! I can manage some Panda Express.....