Pants

Pants are my arch nemeses. I hate them, but I obviously can't live without them. At this moment in time, I own two pairs of jeans, and neither of them fit me properly. Jeans are by far my least favorite bottom. I wish it were socially acceptable to wear yoga pants to every occassion. They may not be attractive, but I'm comfortable.

Yesterday, I decided to bite the bullet and buy myself some jeans. Adam has been after me to do this for a couple of months now. I dropped Jude off at preschool, then took Jovie and Stone to the mall so I could go to Aeropostal. They are the only kind of jeans that have fit my big butt, oompa-loompa legs in the past.

I went in and they had a whole rack on clearance. Oh yeah! I picked two pairs up and went to the check out. Trying them on in the store wasn't going to happen. Paying for the pants was enough of a hassle with both kids throwing a tantrum. Even though I was tired and had thrown my neck out again, because my double stroller broke, I still left feeling great. I haven't had a new pair of jeans since 2006!

The honeymoon ended quickly after I got home and tried them on. The first pair were a standard boot cut, but it had distress lines around the hip area, and it made my hips that birthed 6 children look more like it was 52 kids. No thank you. Who wants to draw attention to that area? I sadly threw them back in the bag to be returned.

I still had hope. I pulled on the next pair. They fit, but the top was a little lower than I like them, and my stretched out underwear (I haven't bought underwear in a while, too) stuck out of the top. If I bought some new underwear they would be ok. Yeah, the top seemed to fit, my hips looked proportioned. Then I looked down. Ewww.....skinny jeans. These would be ok if the bottom half of my body weren't so incredibly unproportioned. My hips and thighs are massive, my legs are short, and my feet are unbelievably long. In skinny jeans I looked like one of those ballon crafts where you dress balloons up like people.

Lesson 95: the bottom half of your body being shaped like a balloon person craft = white trash

Curse you jeans! You may have won this time, but someday!!!

McDonalds Butt

Yesterday Adam told me, "Your butt is still like a McDonalds Meal, it just isn't super-sized anymore."

Lesson 92: your husband thinking of a McDonalds Value meal when he thinks of your body = white trash

The Tutu Terror

I've had four other kids go through their terrible 2's, but none compare to Miss Jovie. This curly haired ball of crazy is quickly destroying my house and my sanity. The weird thing is, she is ten times worse when she puts on a tutu, which she has been adamant about wearing at all times. She wears them with nothing, she wears them with a sweatsuit. It doesn't matter, it just has to be on.

Last week she successfully destroyed my laptop and the keyboard to our desktop. We were without a computer for a couple of days until we bought a new keyboard. My laptop is toast, though. I opened it one day to find the screen covered in orange crayon. When did she even have time to do it? I have no idea. She's a crayon ninja! Seriously, my house is covered in Jovie doodles, and I don't know how she's doing it. I rarely let her out of my sight. It's not like she tries to be sneaky about it either. She's potty training right now, and she announced, while coloring on paper at the table, that she had to pee. I quickly snatched her up and ran her to the bathroom, with a crayon still in her hand. She sat on her little potty, peed, smiled, then turned and scribbled on the wall. It was like she couldn't help it, her art couldn't wait.

Anyway, back to my laptop. I have a hard time putting away laundry unless she's upstairs with me, but the other day she contently watched an episode of Dora with her brothers, and I sneaked upstairs to try and put a dent in the mounds of clean clothes that needed put away. I put away 1/4 of a load when I heard Jovie cackling like some crazed person in a padded cell. I ran downstairs to find her typing away on my computer. I snatched it from her, and closed it up. I had been working on my book, so I knew she had probably typed all kinds of jibber-jabber and that upset me enough, but I opened it and the screen showed nothing but a weird snow, like t.v. I gasped and closed it, giving Jovie the look of death. I ran upstairs and opened it again. This time my book showed itself, and I was relieved to see Jovie only added a couple of numbers and letters. I tried to delete them, but it turned out to be some sort of code and pulled up some random search, and the first paragraph of my book became the size of half the screen and began scrolling itself up and down the whole manuscript. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't click anywhere in the document. I powered it down, not knowing what else to do.

The only thing I can do now is use Word. That would be alright if I could save what I typed, but it won't save on anything but its internal hard drive. Awesome. Thanks Jovie.

Lesson 93: a whole house being terrorized by a toddler in a tutu = white trash

You know it's bad when Jagger came home from school the other day with a drawing of our family. I'll let it speak for itself.

Lesson 94: kid drawings of your family where your daughter is drawn looking like the Tazmanian Devil = white trash

That's right Jovie, I got my eye on you!