You Be Snow White...

Many years ago when my niece was four or five, she was sitting next to my brother in church. My brother and his family are always notoriously late. This makes my brother a little out of sorts. So as he was stewing in his pew, my niece asked him if he wanted to "play Snow White." When my brother quizzed her about this game she said, "I'll be Snow White. You can be Grumpy."

Henceforth on this blog, my dear brother shall be known as Uncle Grumpy. (Not to be confused with Uncle Fuzzface, who is sometimes known as Uncle Crabby. He is my beloved's brother. Also, he has a fuzzface and has been known to be crabby on occasion, so, you know, the nicknames. [Thank you Madame Obvious!]) Anyway! In the spirit of my niece's creativity, I am asking you to play Snow White to my Grumpy so that I can be allowed to grumble and vent my spleen.

Let's play, shall we?

Why the cuss* does my 9 year old son need to cussing practice at cussing 8 a.m. on a cussing Saturday morning? Why does this cussing practice coincide with one of the few weekends my cussing beloved is out of town? Why the cuss must it be cussing raining? How the cuss will I ever get those cussing white football pants clean? Why the cuss does this first cussing 8 a.m. practice have to occur on the first cussing Saturday after the first cussing full week of school when we are all so cussing tired?

My crock pot lid broke several weeks ago. It exploded when I pulled it out of the dishwasher and I had to clean up glass from every nook and cranny all over the kitchen.I love my crock pot and use it all the time. When I emailed the company, they told me that since I didn't have the receipt (who keeps receipts from 5 years ago???) I needed to get some code from the plug. Have I done this yet? No. I just use aluminum foil and a lid that sort of fits. My crock pot is sitting on my counter right now. I am too lazy to go look at the plug and then sift through my email to find the correct one and send the information.

There are 7 pairs of shoes, 4 pairs of socks, a shirt, and two blankets sitting in my family room. I have asked my children umpty-billion times to pick them up and put them away. I am met with the blank stares of non-comprehension. It's a shame. I sort of always thought my children were smart. Guess I'll be teaching them how to say "would you like fries with that?"

Last night was the first time that all four children were home at the same time for dinner. It was the first night that I was with them. We had Subway at 7:30 p.m. because I was too lazy to cook. They ate at the kitchen table while arguing over the television. I took my sandwich and hid from them retreated to the patio with a book. I am a bad mommy.

The dog stinks. Her claws are so long and sharp that every time one of us plays with her, we are at serious risk of being sliced open and disemboweled. I have barely had time to get her dog food so a trip to the groomer has been out of the question. (Also, apparently I am the only one who knows the super-secret phone number of the groomer and is able to make those appointments. I am not, however, the only one capable of complaining about her stench. Huh.)

My mudroom is a wonderful thing to have. I wish it were functional. I keep trying to find ways to get it better organized so that my children will actually hang up their backpacks and stow their shoes and sports gear. So far nothing has worked and now I am discouraged and too lazy to try to fix it. Today I tripped over 4 backpacks, three lunch bags, two sets of football shoulder pads, cleats, and helmets, two drink coolers, and two boxes of my beloved's work stuff that came out of his trunk and never made it back in while I was trying to take the dumb dog out. I might have said a bad word. Or seven.

I have paid almost $400 in book fees alone for my three eldest children. So much for a free public education.

Someone keeps leaving used tissues by the computer. Nobody admits that they are theirs. So I wind up being the one to throw them away. GROSS.

I have nothing fun to write about, so I end up grumbling and venting my spleen about things like smelly dogs and used tissues. That's some stellar blogging right there.

Okay. Enough of playing Grumpy. All this whining has made me tired. You can still be Snow White, but I think this time I'll be Sleepy.

*Thank you "Fantastic Mr. Fox" for letting me cuss without being offensive.