Reduce, Refuse, Relax

A slight "blogcation" was forced upon me due to my chaotic lifestyle and also that I refuse to face the fact that I can't actually do everything.  Despite obvious proof otherwise, I am still CERTAIN I can indeed do everything I want to do.

So, in order to continue living in my well-constructed fantasy world I am pretending I didn't really want to do Small Town Snapshot Sunday yesterday. I'm also pretending I didn't really want to do a post this morning as is my usual custom.

I'm not pretending very well. No, honestly, I would rather have been doing my small town snapshots yesterday instead of buying 96 rolls of toilet paper. I would rather have been describing my fabulous small town life instead of fighting Chuckwagon Race traffic on a highway that has all but two lanes closed due to construction.  I would rather have been writing a post this morning instead of doing loads of dishes and making a very bad surprise omelet for my husband that turned out to be really wet in the middle followed up by driving a Realtor around in the woods and being in the car with the kids for three hours straight.

However, not one to be a total complainer, I can never consider the time wasted. Because if I hadn't been trapped in the car with the boys for three hours I would possibly not have heard this conversation:

T: You poo poo chicken.
J: You're a fat poop chicken.
T: You poo poo chicken!
J: You're a fat poopy chicken!
T: You poo poo chicken!
J: You're a fat poo poo chicken butt!
T: You penis head!

Please remember, this is not language we use in our home, rather this is just a string of naughty boy words attached to regular English words in a combination that the boys find hilarious.

* * *

After we left the lost and confused Realtor, I was driving on to our next destination. I was wearing a tank top with a flowery overblouse and I hadn't noticed that one side of the shirt had slipped down off my shoulder. Tristan, his usual helpful self, said "Mom, you shirt fall off."

I looked down and said, "Oh, it sure is." I pulled my shirt back up onto my shoulder and kept on driving.

Tristan continued on with his sage observations and advice, "You need smaller bips. You bips too big, Mommy. You shirt fall off. You bips too big."

"Um, are you saying my breasts are too large?"

"Uh huh, you bips big. You shirt fall off."

I immediately phoned home to relay his recommendation to his dad who said, "Tell Tristan to mind his own damn business."

* * *

And so, after the toil of the morning, lunch is done, one boy is having a nap, one boy is sweeping the kitchen floor without asking (must be up to something!) and I'm about to relax and put my feet up with an ice cold "uncola" with a squeeze of fresh lime.

I hope you're having an unlaborious Labor Day, wherever you are.