It’s amazing how a few days of sunshine will wash away literally weeks of shit-storm. How a few sunny mornings where the alarm goes off, the children remain in their bed, your husband is next to you softly breathing and the birds chirp pleasantries to each other can remove months of chill and dread and oppression. It reminds me of my husband’s response to the famous Sleepless In Seattle quote, “But it rains nine months of the year in Seattle,” which is, “Yup but you get three months off.”
Que late June.
If this blog gets a little steamy, please do not disturb. The InLaws are coming to take the kids for the night (two?) and the Mister and I will be romping around like the 17 year old selves we once were.
That’s right! We’ll be falling asleep on the couch watching movies at 9! :: snort ::
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God, is she going to post more about how cold and crappy it is there? UGH. You know? Like she’s the ONLY person to deal with shitty weather? I mean, comeon, people are drowning in their beds in the mid-west and blahblahblah it rains in Seattle. Get over it already. GOD. Or is this another “Why I’m too busy for you” post that makes me so warm and fuzzy? Like yesterday’s old fruit? Because nothing says “love” like “you’re third on my list, blog, and, well, it’s a short list.”
They reached out their hands
icy fingers grasp
my hang in theirs cold
Parks open for summer
empty swings sway
in the wind and rain
Coats once hung
brought out again
huddling with blankets
A month ago today
Arizona sunny skies
My sister and a sunburn
Now faded tan
skin pasty white
icy cold feet
Sometimes Brutally Honest Monday is about me asking for your advice, asking for your brutally honest opinion, asking for the truth. Sometimes it’s about me being Brutally Honest with you, opening up a bit, digging a little deeper.
This week, we’ll do both.
First, the easy part. You like the new digs? Now, be honest here. I’ve learned to take criticism in the blog design work a lot better. I’ve pushed myself to higher limits and better quality because of criticism. It’s not fun or easy to be critiqued, but I’m learning it’s ok. I’m learning that you still like me as a person, even if the work is.. well, off a pixel or ten.
Dear Mother Nature.
It’s JUNE. :: flips off Mother Nature ::
I want to write to you about the joys of motherhood. But I can’t. Last night I spent three hours
bitching to my best friends about how fucking HARD it is. My best friends that I’ve known since I was 19 (wow) and who look at me with compassion and shake their heads knowing they don’t have to go home to these… kids.
Yesterday I wanted to call Michelle, Laura and Shea because they get it on a very deep and personal level having watched my children, almost daily, lose their shit and laugh with me because it really is funny, at least on some level.*
This is an easy one, y’all. Is it rude to bring in your own lunch to an eating establishment?
Even if they don’t serve anything on your new diet?
*Mr. Flinger’s Vote: OHMYGOD YOU ARE NOT TAKING FOOD IN TO STARBUCKS
**My Nanny’s Vote: Oh, hellya, it’s fine
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