Walk a mile

They say you should never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.  Well, I’m offering you the rare (ok, not so rare) chance to spend a mile in my shoes (ok, not really shoes, more like flip-flops…it’s summer time.  The shoes are in the closet until fall!)

Well, after a long night of sleeping and waking up without an alarm, it only makes sense to ease into the day.

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Now this is how you enjoy that first cup of coffee.

After a few hours of stressful ‘yard work,’ I realized it was time to feed those pesky children.  (Again with the eating three meals a day garbage!)  After a year eating in a boring school cafeteria, they forced me to change up the scenery and serve them their requested meal in a little more enjoyable lighting.

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Since I can’t having my children feel like spoiled, pampered babies, I put them to work to provide the family dinner.

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I’m only kidding.  I’m a true Nebraskan.  I eat meat, real, red meat.  Meat that used to moo and get tipped over.  I might love going fishing, but I won’t eat fish or any seafood for that matter.  Don’t judge.  It swims in its own poo.

After all that grueling chaos of the morning, it was time to FINALLY pamper myself.  Hey, I’d earned it.

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Yep, that’s the ticket.

Sidebar ~ I have terrible feet.  No really.  I actually feel bad for the poor lady who has to work on these clubs.  Just look at her.

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After all the power grinding, she needed a nap!  Apparently IP shares my sentiments.


He’s currently looking for a couch to crash on….

Well, as you can imagine, after making it through all the chores on my schedule, it was time to finally put these ol’ dogs up for the day and give them a proper rest….FINALLY!

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Now, there’s my mile, judge away….



It’s a good thing she’s cute

As I was finishing getting ready the morning, I arrived at the shoe stage of the dressing process and decided to take full advantage of the high 70s weather we were forecast for the day.  If Nebraska is going to hand me a beautiful day like this, I’m going to let my toes out to enjoy it.  Open toe shoes it is!

One problem.  My toes were not display ready, and I had no time to run out for a pedicure.  Since I picked a pretty purple shirt to wear, I decided to throw a coat of dark purple on the piggies and hope no one looked too closely at them.

I had just finished the second stroke of polish on my first big toe, when my all too excited and way too full of energy puppy came bounding into my room.  She took one leap up, coming straight down on my freshly painted toe.  Then took a second leap up, leaving a purple puppy paw print on my dress pants.


Did you know that finger nail polish remover works on puppy paws?  It does not work on dress pants.  It ruins dress pants.

I’m sure these things happen in your life all the time…right??

It’s a good thing she’s cute, because if she wasn’t she’d be looking for a new home tonight!

My son is a woman

Ok, not literally.  He’s typical boy, all energy all the time, constantly on the go.  He doesn’t just walk places, he runs there, full speed, without looking where he’s going and jumping on and off anything in his path.  He plays sports year round, convinced his career path will be professional football player, basketball player, or baseball player, depending on the season.  He’s the ultimate ladies man already.  No matter the event, when he walks through the doors, he starts smoozing the ladies always finding a handful to flirt with.

But when it comes to getting himself ready to go somewhere, the time the boy takes to get ready can put any high maintenance woman to shame.  All of this is a foreign concept to me as I can be ready in less than 30 minutes, shower to walking out the door.

First of all, the outfit must match.  He started years ago asking me if this went with that.  I’m glad he at least asks, unlike my daughter, who has a weird understanding of what goes with what, but that’s a different blog.

Then the hair.  He has a colic that drives his crazy and he is forever trying to get those few pieces to lay down flat, so he started using hair gel last year.  I don’t use hair gel.  Heck, I didn’t even own hair gel.  When he asked to use it, I had to go buy some.

After the hair comes the cologne.  Don’t get me wrong with this one, I was thrilled when he wanted to smell good instead of like a stinky, sweaty boy.  I ran to the store to buy him a bottle of something, anything.

Then we arrive at the shoes.  My son has a shoe problem.  He certainly has more shoes than my daughter and my husband, combined.  I might own more pairs that him, but I only wear a few regularly, so he has me beat with his rotation.  I can guarantee he will tell me he needs to get a new pair of shoes at least once a month.

And the process of getting shoes on his feet….to say it’s frustrating would be an understatement.

First he has to pick out which ones to wear.  Then he has to hunt down the correct socks to go with the shoe choice.  Next comes what I’ll lovingly call the sock process.  I’m not exaggerating that it takes him about 3 minutes a foot.  The sock goes on.  It’s pull, straightened, pull, straightened, the toe area is tugged on, pull, then taken off and put back on, more pulling, more straightening.  Then the shoes goes on, toe in, heal down, tongue pulled, sock pulled, then the shoes comes off, sock restraightened and repulled and then the shoe steps begin again.  Once he is finally satisfied with the first shoe, the whole process begins on the second foot.  The whole time this is going on, the rest of the family is staring at him, willing him to hurry up already so we can go.

Then, just when we think the boy is FINALLY ready to go, he will decide that he has to go to the bathroom.  Now, you might be think, so what.  Well my high maintenance boy prefers to take off most of his apparel, except the socks, when using the powder room, (Who does this!?!?!)  so this means starting the whole dressing and shoe process over again.  How late are we now???

So when you see me backing out of my driveway with my shoeless, shirtless, son chasing me to get in the vehicle, don’t judge.