State of Obvious

First, because my parent's will ask, I love being back 'home' in New Mexico.  I love the beauty and variety, I love the quiet and peace, I love being near my family. But... I miss Michigan. I miss the trees. I miss the water. I miss the flowers in spring. I miss sidewalks and parks and shops. I miss restaurants. I miss walking to school. I miss streets so famaliar they are like old friends. I missed memory filled places, like my in-laws house, the cemetary where they took Joshua to play, A&W. I miss my friends.  I rarely make close friends and I had the most there that I have ever had in my whole life. I miss my church family who welcomed, nurtured and loved me when I was far from home, trying to adopt, and generally lonely. I miss the revolving door that was our home, always someone stopping by, joining us for dinner or just hanging out. I miss my husband's family who loved me from the first moment and made me their own. I miss driving

Today began.  And then it was all downhill. First, a visit to the doctor's office for Josh.  Nothing major, just a check up so that he can get a prescription for stuff to help concentrate.  He hasn't been taking this stuff all summer, but school is starting soon.  We're talking something like 3 weeks soon.  I know! Then, we stopped at the health department.  My healthy kids needed shots.  Lots and lots of shots.  Because I wait to get said shots until I absolutely have to.  (And they've never spread a communicable disease!  I know, you're welcome.)   We walk in, children prepped for pain with the promise of a visit to a pizza place that features a large mouse after said pain. But, there's no nurse on duty today.  At the health department.  Sigh. Home, and the internet.  A phone call and assurances that the health department in town (30ish miles away) has a nurse on duty to give shots, and off we go.  In the rain.  Did I mention this is day 2 of rain? 

I tried out the crazy new hip website called Bag Borrow Steal.  I am not sure if you've heard of it, but apparently you can rent purses and bags there.  The designer kind.  I thought, "hey bags and purses!  I like those!" and I signed up, signed in and started to shop for an officially official designer bag to rent. First, what is with purses that can carry small towns inside?  I recently bought a new bag that can pretty much hold Carly in it if she squishes herself into a ball.  I bought this giant bag on purpose - mainly because I am typically the receptacle for everything my kids HAD to bring but now can't possibly carry for one more step.  Also, the pockets are large enough to hold a calendar and I'm thinking that when school starts that might be handy.  Even though I'll probably be carrying a back pack at that point.  But you never know.  Anyhow...my bag isn't nearly as big as most of the designer purses out there.  Second, what is with purses tha

Upon hearing "Dancing with Myself" play on the radio: Carly: This is on Flushing Toilets! Josh: Yes, this is on Flushed Away, you're right! Carly: Mom do we still have that movie?

The hot water went out.  People were beginning to fester and smell.  And by people I mean the children.  The weather was sweltering, no break in sight. Behold, the wonder of the backyard shower!

I wonder What is up with paint colors that look like barf?  Barf colors with the top coat 'worn off' to reveal the barfy-er tone underneath? If you bite the head off a Peep first, does it make a sound? Whose in charge of the Lollipop Guild these days?  And what about the Lullabye League?  (I've always wanted to join that one, by the way, because of the pretty tutu's.) Is the magical goodness of the In-n-Out burger all in the sauce?  Or is it the buttered bun?  Or the beef? Who is Julienne and how did she get a form of chopping named after her? How did my house get so messy?  Wait, nevermind, I know that one. Just how did those pioneer women survive without hot water?  It's only been 3 days since our tank was red tagged (it's leaking, you see) and I'm about ready to die.  Well, not die.  But maybe cry.  And everybody smells.  (Not really.  Maybe a little, I did go work out this morning.  I know, what was I thinking !  It burns, it burns!) T

I am not sure who, exactly, is responsible for selecting tags for shirts.  Whoever has this job is either a) malicious or b) a nudist. Case in point:  my undershirt has the most stiff, scratchy, annoying, skin flaying tag ever in creation.  And for some reason, unknown, this tag is situated in the side seam of the shirt right where my pants waistline sits.  Why, why, why?  Oh I forgot: malicious nudist. It is my formal request that from now on tags are: a) printed ON the cloth b) removeable without ripping a giant hole in the fabric or c) made of something soft and pleasant.  Silk maybe? Satin? Cotton? Sincerely, Me