It's cold. I mean, I realize this is Texas and most of y'all north of the Mason/Dixon Line are rolling your eyes, but...below 40 degrees and windy (and cloudy, because who doesn't enjoy a little bout of SAD this time of year?) is stinkin' cold to the majority of us down south.
I would be perfectly content to stay in bed all day, snuggled up under a quilt and wearing my favorite Brookstone socks (I will wear them until they end up in shreds). But, as it always is, I have other obligations in the cold and cruel outside world and instead I have to take a shower and be a grown-up.
Anyway, it's Tuesday and y'all know what that means!
1. I think Mr. BFG and I are both hoping that if we leave the can of paint in our bathroom, it'll eventually just give up and paint itself.
2. Trying to live by the motto, "if ya can't be kind, be quiet." Kind of makes blogging difficult.
3. Though not as difficult has having trouble with the "B" key.
4. I pretty much love the Voxer app. Except when it goes off after I'm asleep and wakes me up because it sounds like a fire engine horn.
5. You know you're desperate when you decide to try out some of your son's Proactive in the hopes that it'll quickly clear up your dreadful skin. I mean, really...it's like I've reentered puberty. Because it wasn't horrible enough the first time...
6. I'm leaving this blank because what I originally wrote didn't follow #2.
7. The boys know how much I hate Gangnam Style. So instead of singing "heeey, sexy lady," they sing things like, "ooooh, juicy bacon!"
8. Blake read to Mr. BFG before bed the other night. I was so proud of him, especially since he's never shown any interest in trying. My little mommy heart was bursting.
9. Thousands of people acting like a bunch of crazies, throwing chairs and rioting over low-income housing voucher applications. Still think we don't have a problem, America?
10. Living in a house full of boys means that each week, I have to wash one giant load full of socks and underwear. At first, this was easy because you could tell what belonged to who. Now? It's an agonizing process that usually results in someone coming to me very, very early in the morning declaring "these aren't mine." I assume it gets worse from here.