I’m Gonna Kick That Rabbits A$$

So if I ever skip a day posting, like yesterday …please say a little prayer for me.I will have a new post I’m writing in my head that will have a title something like,

“I’m taking the Easter Bunny back behind the woodshed.”

or

“I’m going to kick that Bunnies A$$!”.

Story content will have everything to do with three little boys deciding to color Easter eggs without me.  I told them we would would color eggs when I came back from the grocery store.  They called me on my cell while I was shopping to say they decorated the eggs without me.  They were so proud.

I exhaled while yelling in the phone, “BUT I HAVEN’T BOILED THE EGGS YET!”

Peter happily said, “I know Mom!  That’s why we poked a hole in the top and bottom of each egg and BLEW THEM OUT!”

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I came home with a suburban full of groceries and no way to bring them into the kitchen.  There was yolk on the backsplash and floor was a hazmat site. Slimy egg whites all over the floor and dried egg white splatter all over the dark wood cabinets, the countertops, and the appliances. I am not even stressed out yet about the dye that is spilled all over the kitchen table and chairs and banquette.  I hadn’t even processed the fact my kids have put their mouths all over unwashed raw eggs.  The CDC is going to have a tough time determining if our salmonella outbreak is from our Easter eggs or from catching turtles in the pond.

Why YES, Peter did indeed bring a turtle from our pond to the club’s Saturday Easter brunch, because that is the only way we could get him out of the pond.

We woke up to find our baskets this morning and Peter received a giant container of SUPER bubble juice the Easter Bunny gave him.

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The Easter bunny was thinking it may kill some of the turtle germs on his hands.  Then, because AGAIN God has a sense of humor, Peter then immediately spilled the SUPER bubble juice all over on our shag carpet.  Our thick throw rug shag carpet on a wood floor with a foam grippy pad under it, like the kind of shag rug that needs a rake and makes me immediately midcentury modern cool because we have it in our house.

Little known facts about shag carpet and bubble juice.

– Bubble juice, SUPER bubble juice is sticky like glue.

– Shag carpet can hold about $197.69 in change before you notice that their is money in your carpet and this means it is NEVER letting the sticky SUPER bubble juice out.

– In order to get the bubble juice out you have to run pitchers of water through it.  repeatedly.

– In order to get the water out of the carpet you need a shop vac.

– When shop vac’s suction water and SUPER bubble juice it turns the shop vac into a giant bubble maker.

Let me paint a picture…bubbles and water spitting out of the top and sides of shop vac.  I am throwing towels over shop vac to knock down spray.  Shop Vac has pretty giant bubbles stuck to all of its cracks.

I’m still in my pjs due to bubble juice extraction is a messy, messy job.

Another bit of proof that God had a sense of humor is that the egg mess and the bubble mess did not happen in the same room.

Pray for me. Heck, you better pray for my kids!

I think I may have just written that post.  Writing is like therapy.  I tried my first post from my phone and finally opened laptop.  I kept updating as I wrote so sorry if you read a first draft.

Our weird little Peter asked for Breathe Right Strips because his nose is always stuffed up from allergies.  He is a sucker for marketing.  Cannot wait to see our seven year old sleeping tonight with one on.

Happy Easter!

Do you see the little arms on Peter’s tadpole.  It was in my house!  Uh-huh!

Exploding Eggs and Nakedness…Typical Sunday with Family

There is a reason I have a sense of humor about my life with our three boys. If I survived the ridiculous childhood I had, they will be fine. I am going to share with you one of my own childhood stories. Sit down and I will try and paint a mental image and while you laugh at my misery, please remember that nothing is funny until the smell of rotten eggs is gone.

Our family usually hung out at “The Farm” all day on Sundays. We lingered in my grandmother‘s massive kitchen cooking dinner from all that came from the garden and the barn. My Mamaw made a cake from scratch and without a recipe. They had three daughters and the daughters had six granddaughters and eventually, much later, a grandson. Picture my childhood being like an episode of “Designing Women“.

When I was about eight my grandmother told us girls to go get some fresh eggs for a cake. I now know, since their wisdom is immediately bestowed upon we women the moment we become mothers, that they were just getting rid of us.

My grandparents always had a couple hundred chickens, among other animals. I sincerely thought I was Laura Ingalls. I had long brown hair and I loved a dress, (still do) but I fancied myself a tomboy. My cousin, who is about the same age, and I headed off towards the chicken and cow barn.

Since we were sent on a “busy” mission and the eggs had already been gotten for the day the chicken’s nesting boxes were empty. We kept looking and finally found a nest that was full. I held up the hem of my flowered sundress and my cousin loaded up all of the eggs and then I held them close.

I walked across the cow pasture, climbed a fence (as the gate was to heavy to open) walked across the yard (so as to shake them up really good). When I walked in the kitchen, proud of the major score of eggs we found, NOT in the chickens boxes on the wall but in the corner in a nest on the ground my grandmother gasped, “My Lord child! You didn’t get those eggs from that old nest by the cows your Papaw was supposed to get rid of, did you?!!!”

And then the eggs began EXPLODING! Exploding in my sundress and the stench of rotten eggs was less offensive than the dead baby chickens that were all over me when I let go of the hem of my sundress which was less offensive than being stripped naked in front of my entire family and hosed off in the front yard.

It took twenty-five years before I would eat an egg. Go ahead and laugh, I am.