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This week is the week that we make preparations to get the heck out of Ohio for a week of fun in the Arizona sun. This, of course, means that all three of us are getting new underwear. At least that tends to be one of the side effects of going on a longer trip for our family. Yesterday, Wifey got Little Man some new underwear and as I was rummaging through my underwear drawer (that oddly looks like a laundry basket) realizing that it is about time to take half of my skivvies out of rotation. The pregnancy seems to dictate when Wifey should hosiery up as well. It seems that all three of us are converging upon a point of underwear maintenance and procurement.
This is what you people come here to read about, yes?
So aside from impending intimate garment purchase, it also looks like I will need to purchase at least one more pair of shorts. I do not think that 3 pairs of shorts are going to get me through 7 days of fun in the sun with a 4.7 year old. He seems to be hard on my clothes. Much harder than me. I have not spilled pizza sauce on my shorts in over 15 years and yet, there seem to be pizza sauce stains from the un-refutable hugs of a loving yet tomato puree clad child. If we can get most of the laundry done this week, I should be okay regarding shirts for the Arizona heat as well. I am amazed at how many of the stains on my leg wear are not of my own making. This was not something that was impressed upon me during my previous to non-parental existence.
So for those millions of you out there who read this blog and do not yet have children (like the other millions of you out there reading my blog) children stain stuff. There is very little you can do about it.
ON the topic of staining, children like things that are permanent or near permanent. If choosing between washable markers that are happy-go-lucky colors like red, blue, green, purple, and yellow and a boring old black Sharpie, get ready to sand the finish off the dining room table, re-stain and re-poly. If Little Man can choose between slightly aged tomato puree and fresh baked cookies and if I am in a lighter colored leg wear, the puree gets selected. And glitter glue? Who the hell thought that was a good idea? Not only is it glitter, which we all know reproduces asexually, rapidly and constantly, it is also sticky. No one can get rid of regular glitter, much less this pre-sticky version. I assure you that if there has been alien contact by someone getting abducted, those aliens are right now wondering where the speck of glitter can from in their spaceship. Moreover, alien friends and family on their home world are wondering right now why Flarg the Mighty has glitter on his cheek.
FYI, For those of you who do not know, Flarg likes to go to raves.
To recap:
If Jules Verne had written that the center of the earth was filled with creamy nougat, instead of some odd amalgam of swamp gas and prehistoric landscapes and lost civilizations, the United States of America would have already sent a fat man to investigate. By “sent” I clearly mean “could not stop.” Using his Three Musketeers bar as compass and Hershey’s syrup as a weapon, that fat man would press on until he got to the Mohorovičić discontinuity. This intrepid traveler would be joined by his brethren in his quest for the Nougat. They would sustain themselves with flash cooked cake batter and indestructible Twinkies. Without proper cooling I am certain their descent to the Nougat would be halted at least temporarily while he and his friends imbued with the superhuman endurance of their Rascal Scooters endlessly roamed along the borders of the lithosphere looking for their entrance into the unforgiving mantle, the molten caramel of the geological Snickers cross-section. The promise of near limitless nougat fueling their unyielding drive bent on the complete consumption of the cloudlike confection that makes candy bars transcend from the mundane to the sublime…
Ummm… uhhh… that one kind of got away from me
20 Questions Tuesday will be an Interview with Dustin
I should quit now, shouldn’t I?
This is what you people come here to read about, yes?
So aside from impending intimate garment purchase, it also looks like I will need to purchase at least one more pair of shorts. I do not think that 3 pairs of shorts are going to get me through 7 days of fun in the sun with a 4.7 year old. He seems to be hard on my clothes. Much harder than me. I have not spilled pizza sauce on my shorts in over 15 years and yet, there seem to be pizza sauce stains from the un-refutable hugs of a loving yet tomato puree clad child. If we can get most of the laundry done this week, I should be okay regarding shirts for the Arizona heat as well. I am amazed at how many of the stains on my leg wear are not of my own making. This was not something that was impressed upon me during my previous to non-parental existence.
So for those millions of you out there who read this blog and do not yet have children (like the other millions of you out there reading my blog) children stain stuff. There is very little you can do about it.
ON the topic of staining, children like things that are permanent or near permanent. If choosing between washable markers that are happy-go-lucky colors like red, blue, green, purple, and yellow and a boring old black Sharpie, get ready to sand the finish off the dining room table, re-stain and re-poly. If Little Man can choose between slightly aged tomato puree and fresh baked cookies and if I am in a lighter colored leg wear, the puree gets selected. And glitter glue? Who the hell thought that was a good idea? Not only is it glitter, which we all know reproduces asexually, rapidly and constantly, it is also sticky. No one can get rid of regular glitter, much less this pre-sticky version. I assure you that if there has been alien contact by someone getting abducted, those aliens are right now wondering where the speck of glitter can from in their spaceship. Moreover, alien friends and family on their home world are wondering right now why Flarg the Mighty has glitter on his cheek.
FYI, For those of you who do not know, Flarg likes to go to raves.
To recap:
If Jules Verne had written that the center of the earth was filled with creamy nougat, instead of some odd amalgam of swamp gas and prehistoric landscapes and lost civilizations, the United States of America would have already sent a fat man to investigate. By “sent” I clearly mean “could not stop.” Using his Three Musketeers bar as compass and Hershey’s syrup as a weapon, that fat man would press on until he got to the Mohorovičić discontinuity. This intrepid traveler would be joined by his brethren in his quest for the Nougat. They would sustain themselves with flash cooked cake batter and indestructible Twinkies. Without proper cooling I am certain their descent to the Nougat would be halted at least temporarily while he and his friends imbued with the superhuman endurance of their Rascal Scooters endlessly roamed along the borders of the lithosphere looking for their entrance into the unforgiving mantle, the molten caramel of the geological Snickers cross-section. The promise of near limitless nougat fueling their unyielding drive bent on the complete consumption of the cloudlike confection that makes candy bars transcend from the mundane to the sublime…
Ummm… uhhh… that one kind of got away from me
20 Questions Tuesday will be an Interview with Dustin
I should quit now, shouldn’t I?
Labels: mad ramblings
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