A Few Thoughts (or No-No's.)

Tonight I found myself sitting on a bench, completely alone (let's pretend there weren't random strangers milling about) and I had some amazingly profound thoughts.  Thoughts that were so important I had to record them somewhere.  Twitter is only 140 characters.  I despise facebook (see how I refuse to capitalize it - it's like a grammatical insult!)  So blogger wins this round.

Back to those thoughts:

Never, Never, NEVER give a limp-handed shake.  Politely refusing to shake hands at all is more respectable than the limp noodle. 

Never swear in public.  I personally think you shouldn't swear in private either, but at least don't do it in public.  Other things you shouldn't do in public: pick your nose, mess with your wedgie, snort back your excess drainage/mucous (you know what I'm talking about - everybody does it,) or breastfeed (oh, I bet I just ruffled some feathers with that one, didn't I? Mwahahahaha.)

Never, ever, ever give generalized, judgemental advice like: don't breastfeed in public.

Don't slouch.  It's unflattering.

And please, please don't call someone at the very end of the day with bad news.  Unless it's really a life or death situation.  I mean that (*cough*Catherine*cough*)

Always spellchek. I mean thatt.

and.....

I love chocolate.

Profound stuff happening here.  I call it "mom-of-three-children-primary-president-wife-mower-of-the-lawn-blogger-aging-woman" brain. 

p.s. you might need a mop to clean up this dripping-with-sarcasm mess.

Staycations, Product Placement & ZTP

Yesterday was gorgeous. I took my son to the park.

And worked on my photography skills while he played with......rocks.

I took a mid-afternoon stay-cation on the back porch (sans kids.)

I bathed in the sun.

I set up this shot for an upcoming curating job with Diet Coke + Instagram (for that other blog.)

(Yes, that was blatant bragging, product placement and general "come see my other blog" goodness all wrapped up in one sentence; man I'm good.)

I made the boys walk home from school.

Then we had a late-afternoon stay-cation. 

With lots of sugary goodness.

I can explain why my son is wearing his Lego Batman pajama pants.  Sort of.  He came home, went straight to his room and walked out wearing them.  When questioned about his bizarre behavior, he exclaimed, "Because I don't want to waste my BLUE pants!!"  I have no idea what he means, but that is why he's wearing his pj pants. 

Of course, the staycation started out with us sunbathing and reading/coloring books.  The call of the trampoline and swing set became too much and we moved to the yard.  In true ZTP fashion, I started picking weeds.  And cursing my husband's name.  I even took photographic evidence of my handi-work to show him later.

I know.  The box doesn't look that big.  But before if became home to these weeds, it shipped a pair of women's knee high boots......that weren't folded in half.  My point being, that if you stuck both of your calves into a box and padded it with a few inches on every side, you'd get how big this box is.  I hope. 

Don't Be A Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice In The Hood

And by juice I mean candy.  And by Hood I mean the kitchen.  I'm not going to name names, and I am fully aware that you shouldn't cry over spilt milk, but guess what? My son managed to knock my brand-spanking-new-uber-expensive-100%-pure-vanilla extract out of the kitchen cabinet.  Apparently the Achilles Heel of this brand-spanking-new-uber-expensive-100%-pure-vanilla extract was in the lid.  Right where the lid crashed into the ceramic stove top.  Before the bottle bled out on my kitchen floor, it spewed forth it's brand-spanking-new-uber-expensive, but truly delightful smelling goodness all over our cornea-blinding white ceiling, stools, table, and other crevices I have yet to find. 

Now I know you are thinking this is when I lovingly told my crying child that there is no point in crying over spilt milk, and I hugged him and let him know how much I (still) love him, right?  In my head, that all happened - in the five seconds it took me to take in the blood bath.

Cue reality tv filming crew:

Stomp, NO! Stomp, NO! Stomp, NO! Stomp, No!  Yes, just like a small child, I repeatedly stomped my foot (the same one) and shook my head as I muttered no, also on repeat. 

I excused my son from the kitchen. 

I could just hear the vanilla extract squealing with glee at its' new found freedom........to stain my stuff.  I wiped off the stools first.  They were the most expensive.  The ceiling came next.  Guess what?  My ceiling and those 25 or so drops of vanilla extract have gotten married.  And had babies.  The floor got it next.  I'm still finding yummy drops of goodness.  It's like a game of hide and seek.  I just hope the linoleum holds up long enough for me to find them.

Brand-spanking-new-uber-expensive-100%-pure-vanilla extract: $20

Ceiling Paint: $10

Seeing their mother throw a temper tantrum: Priceless

And this is why I've applied for the next greatest Reality TV show.  So that all these fallacies can be permanently documented. 

(Just kidding.  I didn't really apply.) 

And this is why you shouldn't be a menace to south central while drinking your juice in my hood.