Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Pants on the Ground


Translation: Pants on the ground, pants on the ground, lookin' like a fool with your pants on the ground *thump*

Well hello there, Handy Manny!

Guess who sent her son to Baptist preschool today looking like that? Yeah. I'm already one of the only moms who has to leave her kid at "Stay and Play" after hours because she works--now I'm the mom who didn't give her kid a belt. We pulled up to the babysitter's house this morning and just before he reached up to knock on the door, Mr. Bood lifted his jacked to show me a sly Handy Manny peering out from his britches. At that point there was no turning back. I'm just glad I didn't get more than a mention about it from the preschool. Hilarious.

Speaking of pants on the ground, I can not get that little Youtube Ditty out of my head. I sang it to my students all day, because nothing embarrasses a 9th grader like a teacher doing a cheesy rap from American Idol. I live for the awkwardness. I wear it like a homecoming crown. I also had my first day of rehearsal with the dancing ladies--it went great--but it made my "Pants"-singing day blast by just as quickly as the winds outside.

Seriously, what's up with this weather? There's nothing like turning on the weather forecast to see six days of forecasted rain. That is the point when I believe that weathermen (nay, weatherpersons) should just lie. Let's face it, they're only right about as often as I am at the roulette table anyway. Throw me a bone of happiness and tell me it's going to be 75 and sunny tomorrow, people.


After school today we went from zero to sweatpants in about 4.2 seconds. Henry didn't even bother with cozies, he went straight to Mario PJs. I'm enjoying the flip out of my mukluks and some figure-flattering blue sweatpants. It's a tough call tonight between exercise and housecleaning, each equally necessary around here. I'm leaning toward the cleaning, as I can't see my couch or my kitchen counter. I also think I want to revamp my running plan tonight.

Yes, that's a giant pile of laundry next to the boy.

(Just FYI, I totally shot my confidence in the foot by writing about writing the other day. Please don't look to this post as a model of anything I said I try to do. Ha! Oh, seriously, I messed myself up with that one.)

We've done a pretty good job keeping our room clean lately (it helps to have that treadmill in there), save one source of constant irritant to my peaceful, perfect soul--E's side of the bed is a laundry repository. Don't ask him about my bad habits, this is only about him. This is where I go all pot calling kettle black. Do any of your spouses do that pile next to the bed thing? Gawrsh, it makes me BATTY. He leaves things like jeans there that aren't "dirty enough" or that he wants to wear again. I guess they're not clean enough to get put away? They can't go in the hamper, or he'd forget that he could still wear them. Stupid pants on the stupid ground. WHY?

1 comment:

  1. I used to have teachers like you, the kind that made me laugh (at and with them.) At the end of the year I would have asked you to sign my yearbook.

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