Ah, I bet you are sitting at your computer, hunched over like the rest of us with the terrible posture that would make my Nana poke you in the back...wondering why on earth you should read my ramblings. I've got only one answer for you...in view of the fact that I happen to be a bit of a wackadoo, my musings can be your evidence that you are completely normal, thus relieving you of the fear that you have gone loco. Leave that part to me. Oh, and I love to use the thesaurus, as I have an affinity for elocution and a deep seated, albeit odd obsession with grandiose language.
So dig in and be prepared...

Monday, December 5, 2011

Is it possible to be grateful for Poop?...

I thought to myself as I was observing the pile of poopy underwear awaiting my attention tonight. Apparently, it is.
Almost 2 months ago, during my last sporadic post, I swore I was going to post one thing per day I was grateful for. Well....I don't actually remember writing that post, so I can't be held responsible for forgetting, right? And, anyway, I'm here now. Grateful for poop.
Now that I have your attention...
I know you are on the EDGE OF YOUR SEAT, wondering what the H*ll I am thinking.
I'm not really sure, if you must know.
I just know that when I was getting ready to throw myself a pity party over the 10 pair of undies I need to rinse and the fact that I had to clean nastiness off both my sons multiple times today in PUBLIC, I just felt like I should be grateful. That they had clothes to wear. Food to eat. A roof over our heads. A paycheck. Education. Family.
That I had them to clean poop off of.

I gotta tell ya, it's hard not to live in a pity party when your husband is half a world away and your'e the temporarily single mama of 5 little beans. Some days, I'm in the penthouse suite of the pity party. Other days, I'm SUPER HOMESCHOOLING FORMER MARINE TEACHER MOM, ready to leap piles of crap in a single bound, teach with my eyes closed and little people underfoot, whip up a dinner (not frozen...) and not shed a single tear or down a half bottle of wine to make it all better.

And, well, I guess I didn't want to turn 40. Well, I take that back. By the time it rolled around, I was actually pretty laid back. It was the 6 months leading up to it that had me in a tizzy. I know it's just a number. I know 40 is the new 30 . I know my kids will keep me young. I also know that there is SO MUCH I still want to do. SO MUCH I haven't finished. Guess I better get moving, since I'm apparently half dead now.


I celebrated in style...with old friends, little kids and some really great food.
So here's to turning a Fabulous 40. Kiss my grits, 39. 40 is WAY better.

Still kickin' it and crazy...