|How romantic. And doesn’t it just figure? It snowed. A lot.|
Am running a bit late with my blog, due to primarily not thinking the 4 kid thing through clearly at all.
Young moms take note: the 4 kids may seem cute now, but the fact is they grow, eat, and suck the living life right out of you long after breastfeeding. Which they are most certainly not doing, as they are 11, 13, 16 and 18 and that is just too weird, waldorfy, socks-n-sandals for even me. Even though I miss those boobs so desperately at this stage of the game.
But Christmas is over, the stuff has been I-Dream-of-Jeannied back into the attic,
and I’m trying to get back up to speed except there’s apparently the job thing. And the laundry thing. And the fridge is empty and I’m pretty sure the ham from Christmas Eve has got to go. Which may explain the puke thing during a fabulous family & friends ski trip. Or not.
|Banana suit & puberty delivered.|
But they still need food and rides and feetie pjs returned and there’s not time to blog because damnit, apparently bossmans don’t realize I am really quite busy doing the mom thing and can’t write for them while commuting to the frickin’ airport to return Chinese roomie to college.
So I’ll write inspiring, thought-provoking prose at a later date. But for now, here’s my beloved youngest kid in a much anticipated and Santa-delivered via Virginia banana suit.
PS. This photo was taken hours before kid4 proudly announced he has fuzz on his wiener. “Wanna see? It’s been there for weeks. But nothing in my pits. Nothing.”
I’m really wondering about kids (mine) who adamantly believe in Santa while having Chia-pubes sprout on their wiener. But that’s just me. And mine.