It is time once again!
For The Superfluous Third Nipple, a Fly on the Wall post! Today, fourteen bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you would see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come on in and buzz around my house.
Don’t mind the mess… we live here.
This is the awesome, dramatic, super colorful, sometimes unexplainable, awkward moments that make up our days in the strangely bizarre tight knit group of uniquely puzzling people we’ve created.
“I am SO the superfluous third nipple around here!”
Was the cry of the Handsome Prince when he realized that several of our kids had come to me with their secrets, personal thoughts and issues lately, instead of him.
Between work and the new shop, that Handsome Prince of ours isn’t around much so if he’s the superfluous third nipple, then I’m more or less the default for the absent boob. The superfluous third nipple syndrome seems to be rampant about these parts.
That’s building a business for ya.
Mammary Christmas, folks!
Our street is fairly festive when it comes to holiday decorations every year.
Last year we didn’t put up lights and definitely looked like the street Grinch.
I was determined to bust out our lights and put them up this year. I started looking for the huge bin of lights on Thanksgiving day and then for two weeks afterward. No bin of lights anywhere. Not the attic. Not the garage. Not stuffed in any closet or shoved in some random space in the house. The lights were gone.
The Handsome Prince and I sat to ponder this lighting issue when it hit us.
Remember that CRAZY huge garage sale blowout we had a couple years ago when we closed our thrift store?
In the spirit of the purge, somehow we haggled our holiday lights to the highest bidder as well.
High five, dumb ass entrepreneurs!
It only took me THREE trips to two different stores to acquire the appropriate exterior illumination but we have icicle lights.
Seriously?! Who put us in charge?
Their license should be revoked.
Speaking of Thanksgiving, we had a minor turkey mishap.
Well, if you call waterfalls of cascading turkey juices spewing from all sides of the island to wash much of the kitchen floor with the buttery, seasoned vegetable/turkey broth, minor.
The Handsome Prince carved the turkey and forgot to not cut through the crappy throw away aluminum pan I used to cook the bird in a bag in. (Stop judging my choice of cook wear. I was not entertaining and so not scrubbing a roasting pan too, thank you.)
He walked away and the turkey juice flood of 2014 occurred.
I came upon the tragic scene as the currents of fowl liquids had nearly run dry and watched little cooked onion chunk boats ride the wild currents of broth through the grouting of the tile on our kitchen floor.
Several rolls of paper towels and a strong cleaner later, we survived another family holiday.
I have developed a deep hatred for tile grout after this experience.
I have dreams about relatively grout less kitchens.
Our Thanksgiving turkey weighed exactly how much weight I’ve lost since starting Plexus and getting healthy!
It felt so dang heavy in frozen bird form and was a super empowering reminder that I am totally on the journey that is absolutely right for me. I feel so much better, I am the healthiest I’ve been in years and I’m finally comfy in my own skin.
Who knew that was possible?!
When the Handsome Prince and I went to bed Thanksgiving night, all the kids were still up watching a movie and doing a puzzle.
The next morning, I found two whole pies missing, a gallon of ice cream and most of the side dishes from our giant fest were gone. o.0
The fridge looked like the Grinch had struck.
They totally had their own party going after hours.
I can totally concede a few pies for some quality family bonding and it certainly gives me hope that these weirdos will be the close family that mine never was, when they grow into themselves.
Gives me the warm fuzzies and makes me wonder why the hell they fight all the time but enjoy each others company while I’m unconscious and they don’t even leave me any potatoes? Huh??
You know how I have that habit of picking up stray lotto tickets from the ground…
I ran to the market to get milk, found a wad of littered tickets in the cart return and won $3!
Cash for trash, baby!
“Sometimes I forget that I am wearing socks and I’m like, whoa, I’ve got socks on. Awesome!” ~Min
I catch a lot of flack from our older three kiddos about homeschooling.
They are just jealous… they all secretly wish that they too could be taught by someone with such a radiant, sparkly, snarktastic personality, as I possess. 😉
I was starting to think that they all believe me to be the village idiot. The owning of teenagers can certainly make one feel rather lame and lacking I.Q. points at times. They know everything so when I offer to help with a subject that I’m currently teaching, I get eye rolls and the thanks but no thanks… then comes the ‘you just teach 6th grade, you don’t know anything’ snooty looks. Then I get text messages like this, after an important Earth Science Final:
“Mom, you telling me about sedimentary rocks last night pretty much saved me. Seriously if you didn’t tell me that I would have forgot and gotten so many wrong. Thanks.”
Mark this day, friends!
On 12/18/14- I was right and it saved the science final.
It’s a Chanukah miracle!
“Why would you want a llama? They spit acid, you know,” Kenzie asks me.
Briefly I envisioned taking over the world, while riding my acid spitting llama… I digress.
“They do not. Well, when they spit it does have stomach acid in it but not the kind of spiffy acid from an evil lair that would disintegrate flesh or walls or anything. It’s just really stinky spit, not mutilate your meat acid,” I inform her.
“So I was right. Llamas spit acid,” she insisted.
“Not entirely. Its a pretty big stretch…” I countered.
“I didn’t say how much or what type of acid they spit. They spit a type of acid so I am totally correct.”
Girl needs to argue for a living.
I think they know we practically worship their little bean paws.
The feeling is mostly mutual.
Severus Snape is letting it all fang out.
Min has been really busy lately and one day she finally graced us with her presence for an entire day.
She was less than pleased to see her siblings indifference to her rare appearance and a tad grumpy that her family went on about their day as if this miracle was not something exquisite in which to treasure and drop all plans to embrace.
She wallowed about our bedroom with that darn third syndrome, “I refuse to be the superfluous third nipple of this strange family! Where is everyone!? Why are they not here to love and entertain me??”
“Where’s the tip to my asparagus?? Who ate just the tip of my asparagus? Who just eats the top and leaves the rest?” Min says, as though a grave offense had been done to her.
“Really?! It’s a green bean,” the Handsome Prince tells her.
“I feel so deceived by your yucky green vegetable disguised as a delicious one. Pass!”
Deep thoughts by K:
Have you ever really looked at a peacock? Watched it peacock around and fluff its feathers? Peacocks look like they speak French. Maybe that’s why one has never talked to you before.
*Peacock apparently is now a verb*
Two grape Popsicles exploded in our dining room… EVERYWHERE!
Nobody did it.
They didn’t even crack under the intense mom glare or after the vein in my forehead popped out. They didn’t even cringe when my eye started twitching.
Seriously, no one even cracked a little. Which either means someone is lying and they are just getting so much better at this since uniting their forces, the Bengal cats can now open the freezer, crawl up to the back of the top shelf to get a Popsicle to play Quiddich with in night OR we are being haunted by a spirit that leaves grape Popsicle as its ectoplasm.
If you find me shuffling down the sidewalk in my bathrobe, talking to myself and randomly signing show tunes, the sticky grape has officially won. Kindly steer me towards a grape-less vacation, please.
What every parent fears hearing at 10pm on a Sunday night…
“I’ve got to make a flamingo mask… By tomorrow.” -Kenzie
I went into K’s room to get the phone charger she’s always swiping and find four cats standing on her bed transfixed by a decorative box on her nightstand.
This photo is what I found when I opened the box!!
Six exotic cats and a pet rat has the makings of a holiday massacre. We have a firm rules about bringing anything with a heartbeat (alive currently or in the past) into the house to visit and/or stay. The inn is full… we are NOT taking on any more dependents…Unless we’re talking chickens or a llama. Then I might be able to muster some excitement. 😉
“Bernard” was relocated to another abode.
I changed my shorts.
I felt a whole new crop of grey hairs begin to form that day.
In an attempt to prepare our offspring for the drudgery of adulthood, we require that they do a few chores on a regular basis that they will see in the “real world”.
I hate laundry. You hate laundry. We all hate laundry. Hurray!
Guess what?! There is no laundry fairy.
All of our kids are capable of doing their own laundry and if they put their laundry in the correct location, it is done for them and returned folded on their beds. If not, they are on their own to budget time and get their laundry done.
Recently Kenz had a revelation that spurred her into action.
“My laundry is at epic levels. This shirt stinks and I am down to my last pair of underwear! Maybe I should do laundry today. Can I borrow a pair of pants?”
Take a big whiff… that’s the foul smell of education in action.
She’s updated her calendar through 2016 to schedule in doing laundry each week.
Funny how motivated a person can get when they are down to the ugly undies and a minnie mouse zip up onsie.
Somehow I’ve turned into that lady who hands out healthy snacks at the party.
Snowman cheese stick anyone?
I know it is kinda cheesy. 😉
As I yanked ye ol’ Ab Lounger out from under the bed (for the first time in a hand full of years), it hit a hidden can of silly string, tweaking the nozzle and it began shooting purple string.
I bobbled the offending can trying to get it to the trash.
The second that sucker hit the garbage, it stopped spraying and I was left with decorative wall art as I tried to collect my wits.
Never did I expect our bed to start hissing and violently projecting purple at me.
Perhaps I should take it as a sign to use that ab lounger once and a while…
Nah. Psh, like that’s going to happen. 😉
“If anyone is the superfluous third nipple in this family, its me! I swear, I must be invisible and stuck on mute!!”
“On no, you can’t be the superfluous third nipple because we need you for stuff all the time. Like giving us money, driving us places and cooking the food,” Min stated.
Buzz around and click on these links for a peek into some other homes:
http://www.BakingInATornado.com Baking In A Tornado
http://www.justalittlenutty.com/ Just A Little Nutty
http://themomisodes.com The Momisodes
http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/ Spatulas on Parade
http://thesadderbutwisergirl.com The Sadder But Wiser Girl
http://followmehome.shellybean.com Follow me home
http://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/ Stacy Sews and Schools
http://www.menopausalmom.com/ Menopausal Mother
http://batteredhope.blogspot.com Battered Hope
http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
http://www.JuiceboxConfession.com Juicebox Confession
http://www.risanye.com Risa Nye
http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com The Bergham’s Life Chronicles
http://www.clutteredgenius.com Cluttered Genius