What You Want Me To Call Them?

Today I had the utter displeasure of accompanying my mother on her annual pilgrimage to replenish her tired brazier collection.

I’m not sure who enjoys this excursion less.  Her, for the river of denial she swims trying to shop in the “cute” section.  Or me, for being strapped into a stroller-cart, taking endless trips in and out of the dressing room and through the tight weave of undergarments.

Although, after today’s attempts to make this experience a smidge more palatable for me, I believe my Mother’s distain increased exponentially.

Prologue:
For anyone who has EVER:
*Been around me for more than 5 minutes,
*Read The B-Blogs on a regular basis,
*Worn a tight or low-cut shirt in my presence,
*Sat at eye-height while I’ve possessed a camera,
or finally,
*Simply someone who has boobs.

You may know that I am slightly fascinated with them.

Simply said, I love them.  I love everything about them.  I love looking at them, I love poking them, I love talking about them, I love pointing them out and remarking on their obviousness.

Back to my story…
At first glance, this satiny department is very misleading.  There are hundreds of hanging forms that only look like a woman’s best feature.  As I learned, they aren’t actually filled with anything.  But that didn’t stop me from fondling each and every one of them, deflating the molded cups with one swift poke and yelling “BOOBIES!”  in a repetitive and dramatic crescendo-type fashion.

As in: “Boobies, BOobies, BOObies, BOOBies, BOOBIes, BOOBIEs, BOOBIES, BOOOBBBIIIEEESSS!!!!”

Now I will let you do the math as to how long this went on.

One Mortified Mommy + One Loud, Perverted-Mouthed Boy Screaming “BOOBIES” Non-Stop + 5 Bras + Check Out Time = Number Of Minutes We Were In The Store.

And let me thank the “very helpful” (as my Mommy called them…but not in a “very helpful” sort of way) ladies who belly-laughed at my chants.  Without you, I may have ceased the madness sooner, but you seemed to be enjoying it so very much.

So next time you are out shopping and wander past this fun department, I hope you will think of me and all the joy I bring to almost everyone.

Washing Windows

Step-by-step account of actual days events (and a little insight into how my brain works)…
Find spray bottle.
Find squeegee.
Go outside.
Spray door wall windows with spray bottle.
Squeegee windows.
Run out of water.
Contemplate options.
Decide faucet is too far.
Remember I have the ability to make my own spray bottle.
Pull down my pants.
Pee on the windows.
Squeegee pee off windows.
Go inside.
Proudly tell my Mom, “I wash you windows!”
My Mom smiles, because she is more than surprised at the beauty of the streak-free clean a little urine can provide.
Your Welcome.

The First Day...Of The Rest Of My Life

Embarking of this adventure called school has long been an anticipated dream of mine.

The build-up to this particular day has been nothing short of monumental; after all, I am “the Baby”.

More importantly, it marks my break from the eagle-eye of my Mother…or so I thought.

Just when I think I’m being afforded a little freedom, it’s really just a changing of the guard.

I was warmly (yet deceivingly) greeted by THREE older versions of my mom.  That’s right; not one, not two, but three women whos only job is to monitor my every move.  Their sweet smiles only hide their CIA-operative-spy-like observation skills.

THAT’S SCHOOL?!

And that’s when I decided…you want something to watch…I’ll give you something to watch.

So I started by offering all of the teachers as well as my unsuspecting new classmates the booger that sat upon the tip of my index finger.  For those that fell prey to acting squeamish, I feigned wiping it on them.  I even chased a few of the overly-dramatic, threatening to tattoo them with my germy pointer.

On to the playground…I asked the teacher to help me zip my sweatshirt, and while she was crouched in front of me, face-to-face, I asked if I could see her boobs.  Much to my surprise, she denied my request.

Next, Circle Time…I love that they know all of the same songs as me.  Or at least some version of my playlist.  So when we sang the “ABC’s” I was more than eager to share how it should be sung (with an emphasis on the “P” followed by a rant of “pee-pee, poo-poo” shouts.

And my favorite, Snack Time…In the time it too my teacher to turn around to get the pitcher of water, I was able to summit our snack table and proclaim, “HEY EVERYBODY, WATCH THIS!…”  But before I could finish the show, I was quickly scooped up and placed back in the miniature version of a chair.

I am really going to have to step up the executions of my plans.  No worries, I have all year...

Good Ideas

In my world, one good idea usually leads to another.  On average, the results are either fun or hilarious (and usually just plain worth it).  Then there are those rare occasions when all three merge, in combination with a near heart attack for my Mom, and I call it a successful day.

First Good Idea…Help my Mom pack the car for our road trip (quite helpful, if you ask me).

Which led to Good Idea #2…Put the keys in the ignition to open all of the windows.

Naturally leading to Idea #3…Since the windows are open, I exit the car via the windows and climb onto the roof by way of the roof racks and some fancy footwork.

Awesome Idea #4…While atop the car, the discovery of what I could see from that height led to one of my best ideas EVER.

(Now understand that my Mother was at a distinct disadvantage when she finally came upon the following scene, as she was not privy to Ideas 1-4 beforehand.)

Look closely…I am intentionally lying down and shadowed because I am about 75% sure this may be frowned upon.

 

INCREDIBLY FANTASTIC IDEA #5...Use the top of the Suburban as a platform to climb upon the top of the opened garage door (and simultaneously discover new ways to give my Mother unnecessary heart palpitations).

 

How long did it take you?  It took my Mom approximately 9 minutes (that’s like 47 hours in Mom-Time).

I heard the ever-familiar gasp of “HOLY HELL!” when she finally caught a glimpse of me lying as still as a stick-bug hiding from predators, just trying to blend with my surroundings.

After quickly snapping a photo (which she thought I didn’t see her doing) to prove to my Dad just what happens during her “easy-stay-at-home-Mom-day”, she gently coaxed me down.  I was glad to reenact each move I used to make my ascent, and give a play-by-play description of the process during the reverse descent.

Not-So-Awesome-Result…I may as well be on house arrest.  That woman has resorted to not letting me out of her sight, not even for a second.  I must now accompany her as she tries to complete her daily household tasks, while she showers, while she makes dinner, and even when she uses the toilet.  Talk about punishment!

She may take away my freedom, but she can never take away my imagination.  And where there’s a will…there’s a way!  Stay tuned.