Angel/Devil in the Dressing Room

My parents have a very nice swimming pool in their backyard. The closest I've gotten to it is fishing the dead beatles out of it last summer.

I'm looking forward to cannonballing off the side of it this summer, though. We'll be there all of a day, and you know it will be too stinkin' cold to swim.

Which is why I was inspired to buy a bathing suit at Target today. Because in the meantime, I can wear it around the house with leg-warmers like Jane Fonda.

It caught my eye because it was red and floral and the top of it would cover my still-healing Kanga pooch. Suffering a temporary lapse of stylishness, Kendra thought a picnic tablecloth would do the trick.

So I figured I'd try it on. Even though I should have known from the size of the cups in the suit I would have better luck fitting an acorn squash into a thimble.

For the first time ever, since I had Baby Girl in tow, we used the "family" dressing room. She was all, Mom, this is so the last time we do mother-daughter swimsuit shopping.

I looked in the mirror and realized I'd been unwittingly experiencing a wardrobe malfunction. Oh. No. I did not just walk around Target like this.

My boob pads had soaked through. I had two targets on my shirt, whilst at Target.

I tried on the suit and the top was indeed too small. Oscar Mayer called. It wants its hot dog casing back.

But otherwise, I didn't look bad. No, I really didn't -- seeing as I was pregnant with a wooly mammoth and now I am not.

I got a bigger size top and bought the swimsuit. I still had wicked buyer's remorse, maybe something about not having a paycheck to, like, pay for stuff?

I took it home and debated whether to show Lovey. He found the bag but didn't open it.

He just asked me if there was candy for him in the bag. Fantastic. I am going to look like a pack of Skittles. Taste the Rainbow.

BJ's Run

The expression "going for a [insert item name here] run" as in "going for a beer run" or "going for a Sheetz* run" is but a joke in this life with an infant. There is no "running out for a ..." with the infant. There are only planned ventures; there are only errands that always take longer than you expect. And I'm not complaining because a hot little Saturday night to me is a trip to B.J.'s with my family. All my peeps be bizouncin' up n' down the iz-aisles. For Baby Girl, each warehouse shelf is a sensory overload of colors and lights. For Papa John, the opportunities to embarrass his wife in public are vast, what with the economy size pack of clinical strength deodorant, KENNY, YOU WANNA TRY THAT?

This past Saturday night, the whole trip door to door took us about 2.5 hours and we were totally checking the website per usual to see what time it closed just in case we'd be cutting it close. I suppose some people aspire to close down the bar. We somehow manage to close down B.J.'s more often than not. We would so not make it as Europeans.

*Unless you colleged in Western PA, and have a penchant for sub sammy at 2 a.m., this reference may go unappreciated.

***

This picture probably doesn't charm the pants off of anyone here, but I just adore it. She's riding in her carrier with her daddy, and her face is just so mild and yet curious. I love her.

The Power of Funyuns

Since our home is located on the corner of a busy street, the amount of debris that blows into our yard is truly upsetting. Slurpee cups and cellophane do a whimsical dance into our yard. Do they not know? Camera boy from "American Beauty" doesn't live here. Our back patio often looks like a construction crew took its lunch break back there, and just couldn't find a trash can afterwards. Needless to say, we are constantly campaigning: 7-Eleven, Not in My Backyard. A few weeks ago, I went outside and picked up a few pieces of trash from the yard and disposed of them in a trash can inside. One of the pieces of trash was an empty bag of Funyuns. Which to Lovey Loverpants can only mean one thing: Wifey went on a bender! She snuck outside just long enough to get her greasy food fix, but she's not clever enough to hide the traces of her habit. I tried to vindicate myself. But it was a long few days before the trash was to be curbed. Each day presented a new lesson for Baby Girl vis a vi Papa. "Mama likes Funyuns, Madi. Mama denies it, but she really likes Funyuns...I'm chopping onions; bet Mama wishes they were Funyuns." I was practically waiting to see it on the latest entry of Stuff White People Like: Hiding Their Funyuns Habits.

Even if I did get caught with my hand in the chip bag -- I put on my pre-preggo jeans today...and they zipped and snapped shut so BOOO-YAH.