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On days when I'm home I've been rocking some serious mom jeans that are at least 2 sizes too big. Saggy ass doesn't even begin to describe it, but they're so comfy I don't care. Just to top it off I pair them with an old sorority shirt. Safe to say I'm the hottest mom on the playground.
Since being on unemployment I haven't actually had an entire week off. In fact I've worked enough that I haven't even qualified for a single dime. I probably should be grateful I'm working. And making legit money. But part of me wants just one lousy week off to mooch off the government.
In effort to find my long lost sex drive, my GYNO suggested going off the pill. So we're giving it a whirl. Problem is, now I'm so damn paranoid about getting knocked up it wouldn't matter if I did find it. Sex? What's that? I told my husband we'd do it again after menopause.
Sometimes I feed Jamie Chef Boy R Dee. I'm well aware that it's not organic. Or homemade. And probably has no nutritional value. But he eats it, so I don't care. I grew up on Beefaroni and Spaghettios and I'm still alive.
The CD player in my car is broken so I often listen to music on my phone. Pretty much every single time I do this I try to turn up the volume on the radio and then for a brief moment can't figure out why it isn't working.
Most days when I'm home I get about half way through my lunch before I realize I'm eating off a plastic toddler plate. At least I use a big girl fork.
Our dishwasher is basically a glorified sanitizer. I prerinse everything. I kind of the think it's gross to a put a dish with caked on food in the dishwasher. I don't trust that shit would ever come off.
Jamie's hair is crazy and probably needs to be cut, but after last times haircutting experience I'm not sure who's more traumatizes. Him or me. So I will continue to let him look homeless. The shaggy look is in anyways.
I went to the BIG KState/KU Basketball game on Tuesday with my brother. And proceeded to drink more in one night than I probably have in the past year. It was awesome. Until my alarm went off the next morning and I was quickly reminded I'm not 21 anymore. Woof. Going to work hungover = not a good time.
Jamie has started asking for a diaper now when he has to do a number 2 because he doesn't want to go in his big boy undies. I told him we gave them all away to the babies. If he's going to refuse to use the potty, that's his choice. But I've heard horror stories about this and I'll be damned if I have a 5 year old who can only deuce in a pull up. Hell to the no. I'd rather wash his dirty drawers.
Two weeks in a row I've talked about my sons pooping habits on my blog. Pretty sure he's going to hate me for that one day.....
Confessions. They're good for the soul.
Now spill your guts!
