The Swamp People called, they want their kid back.

This is a tooth only a Mother could love.  

Well, maybe not even a Mother.

Bode fell at the pool and killed his tooth.  It gets a little darker {uglier} every day.  According to our doc we can have a dead tooth kid or a snaggle toothed kid, it's our choice.  Basically it's a lose-lose situation.

To top it off I kind of forgot to have his hair cut, for the past two months.  Ooops.

Andy is so upset about the state of his son that every time he looks at him he starts muttering under his breath and shaking his head from side to side.

I suggested maybe he could play an extra orphan in the Annie musical.  Andy did not find that humorous.

I never pegged Andy as the vain type.  I am secretly kind of enjoying this.  Now he will be able to sympathize with me when Mia starts insisting on dressing herself.  

Leapin' Lizards!

I have Mia has some exciting news that I she has been anxiously waiting to share.

Mia auditioned for Annie last week. Andy and I downplayed the whole Annie thing and focused on what a good experience this audition would be.  Because, I'll be honest, I didn't really think she had a chance.

After call backs, and more call backs, and then more call backs my her dream came true.

I kid you not, this little girl rocked it.  And I have never seen her more excited about anything in her life.  I think she called every person in my phone at 10:00 PM to share the news.

And the person she was the most excited to tell, of course, was her Daddy.  

She literally attacked him when he walked through the door.

He was so proud he threw her on top of the refrigerator (for some reason my kids think this is awesome).

And about 11:00 PM when we both she finally settled down enough to go to sleep I walked by to find this beloved sign on her door.

If you don't see me around, it's because the theater had to take a restraining order out on me to keep me from showing up at all the practices in a red, curly wig it's because we are going to be really, really busy.

Oh my goodness, Oh my goodness!

Dear Children,

{via}

Love, 

Mom

My floors are sticky

and so are my countertops.  But my kid is happy, and today that is all that matters.

After seeing this little crayon art project explode all over Pinterest, I knew it would be right up this little girl's ally.  
This was Mia's first solo hot-glue-gun experience and, lemmetellya, she was on quite a power trip.  This happens to most women when a glue-gun is in their hands.  Like most things involving the female species, it's hard to explain.
After the crayons were glued to the canvas it was time for the hairdryer.  And after we blew a fuse (or ten) the magic started to happen.

 She loves herself a project.  And I love myself a 6-year-old little girl.

It was a win-win situation.

Ooops, I did it again,

I forgot it was Bode's birthday.

One important, yet somehow still forgotten detail of Mia's first day of school was that it was also The Bodester's 4th birthday.  

He couldn't wrap his brain around the concept of his birth "day" not being the same day as his birthday party, and after trying to explain it about a million times I screamed into a pillow, pulled out a fistful of my own hair, and gave up.

He couldn't have cared less.

And she's off...

Mia's on her way to first grade at this very moment (in her adorable Oakdale Rockets outfit, of course).

 Her very specific instructions included a Slim Fast for breakfast (she's not really in to breakfast, or anything that happens before 10:00 AM for that matter) and she wanted her Daddy to take her up to the door of her classroom. 

 Well good morning, Sunshine.  Your sister is starting first grade today, now please act like you care.

 Here is the forced good-bye hug.  

"You'll hug each other and you'll like it."

This year the tears were not nervous tears, they were "I just don't give a rip about going to school" tears.

And this year my tears aren't for Mia, they are for me and the fact that I will be the sole source of Bode's entertainment for yet another school year.

I'll get over it...tomorrow.

The word of the day is....

Sassy.  I regret to inform you that my daughter is fascinated with the idea of being sassy.

Take, for example, this conversation we had last week:
Mia:  Mom, take a picture of me doing my sassy smile.
Me:  You mean your insecure smile?
Mia:  No, I said SASSS-SSSYYY smile.  It's where you kind of go like this:

instead of like this:

Me:  Mia, I'm not really comfortable with you trying to be sassy.  Sassy is code for insecure.

Mia:  MOTH-THER  WHY DO YOU ALWAYS SAY THINGS LIKE THAT?

Me:  Things like what, the truth?

Mia:  Sometimes I just want to smile sassy.  That doesn't mean I have to act sassy, it just means I don't want to smile like a baby anymore. 

And then my heart broke just a little bit because I was reminded that my daughter is turning into a sassy 1st grader (tomorrow) with a feather in her hair and I sometimes still see her as a baby with an oversized bow.

And speaking of tomorrow, this boy will officially be four and judging from this picture he doesn't yet have a clue about "sassy smiles." 

 "Dude, your sister said make a sassy face not a freak face."

 Today is officially the last day of our summer so I am going to soak in the feather and the spiderman suit while I still can.  

And I'm going to continue the fight against the sassy face, one picture at a time.

Wish me luck.

And then he was four...well, almost.

The only request Bode made for his 4th birthday was to have the trashiest, most violent cake possible.  

On that note I headed straight to Wal-Mart.  They did not disappoint.

Let the party begin...

No child is more proud of their birthday suit than this kid.

 Bode calls this "Black Spiderman" which I am sure is not politically correct, but try explaining that to a four-year-old.  (Not worth it, trust me.)

And the piece de resistance was this Mr. Incredible suit Andy found on e-bay.

Mia burst into Bode's room in the suit to surprise him.  

 Superhero costumes are like oxygen to this little boy - vital to his existence.

And last night I caught him standing in front of the mirror wearing his fake muscles saying, "Yah, I'm four," over and over again.  

I almost said, "Your actually not four until Wednesday, you egomaniac," but I didn't want to steal his joy.  

So as far as he knows he's four and he's awesome.

He's got one of those absolutely right.

There comes a time in every woman's life {month}

when she has to hide in her car at 10:30 PM and eat this

so her husband won't know she actually ordered two.

It happens.

This is really all I have to show for our little mini-vaca

Bizarre faces

 and me accidentally grabbing my daughter's b00b.  

We had a great time at the aquarium

but after going through my pictures I realized the only thing I captured was a

  random guy's plumber's crack and an 80-something year old lady with no pants on.

 We're mature like that.

 In other news:  Yesterday I was convinced it had to be almost 5:00 and when I looked at the clock it was only 1:30.

 At that moment I was officially ready for school to start.

Mia?  Not so much.

We just returned from a little family retreat.

We are refreshed and relaxed and ready to face the busy reality that is August.  

Bring it.

The "Oh my goodness I can't believe school is about to start" panic mode

It's coming.  And as a result I am throwing back fistfuls of skittles at rapid speed.   I'm also having heart palpitations.  I'm guessing the two are related.

The school supplies are purchased, save that one obscure size of construction paper that I'm convinced doesn't really exist.  I am ripping clothes out of closets, buying fruit cups and peanut butter in bulk, cleaning the crushed goldfish and melted crayons out of the backpack, and attempting to explain to Mia why she has to wear underwear everyday no matter how hot it is.

And Andy's way of coping?  He planned another vacation.  The first one he planned involved us driving 8 hours to a water park in 195 degree weather.

I screamed obscenities at this idea.  He changed his mind.  That's how it works, ladies.  Feel free to take notes.

So we settled on a nice hotel about an hour and a half away.  An indoor pool, some good food that I don't have to cook, an aquarium, and Aunt Sesa.  What could be better?

And so what if we each have to resort to immature emotional coping methods to prepare for the start of school?  You would too if you were sending this sweet baby off to first grade:

I'm off to buy more skittles.