The Legging.

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I’m finally embracing the legging. I really didn’t know what I was missing. They are heavenly — as least as far as comfort is concerned. However, they don’t hold in my fat properly.

Meaning … I jiggle as I walk.

I need to invest in a Spanx/Legging hybrid. I’m sure they are out there. Surely I’m not the only jiggly lady out there who wants to sport some leggings.

Cloud Nine.

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Last night my little boy was tossing and turning at 8 pm which is way past his bedtime.

I went into his room to see what was going on. He had removed his diaper and his pajama pants were all bunched up. I changed him and put him in a more comfy pair of jammies.

After that, he climbed back into bed. I smoothed his hair, tucked him in, and lined up his stuffed animals. He said, “Thank you Mama.”

And then, “I love you Mama.”

SO. SWEET.

Prayer & Coffee.

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Prayer and coffee.

That is how I am getting through my days lately (will coffee kill off my eggs?!). Husband is working a LOT at his new job, and I’m thankful for how great he’s doing. He’s kicking butt and taking names over there.

But, his continued absence means I am handling the Toddler in all of his tantrumy glory by myself.

I can handle it.

Really. I can. And I do. I just need … a cocktail. Stat.

We are so blessed with so much … I feel like I spend an awful lot of time griping about this or that, without taking the time to say that I’m thankful. I have a GREAT, albeit CRAZY, life.

And now, back to my latte.

Open Letter.

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My mother thinks that there might be “wackos” who read my blog and may decide to stalk me or my family at some point in the future. This letter is to all the wackos of the world.

Dear Wacko(s),

If you are toying with the idea of following me, standing outside of my house and looking in the windows, or reading my mail  … please resist the urge.

I’m wacked enough already.

Thank you,
Harmony

Those Bra-Burning Bitches.

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Fact: I am a 1950′s housewife trapped inside the body of a career woman.
The only reason I went to college was to find myself a husband. That’s right. I might as well have tattooed “MARRY ME” on my forehead. Looking back, I don’t know why I wasted so much time thinking about marriage when I should have been experimenting with controlled substances. 
My plan was very … vintage. I was only getting a degree to fall back on in case my husband died or lost his limbs. I never planned to have a career.  I wanted a man, some children, and a double oven – in that order.
Read the rest at www.birminghammommy.com!

Shoe Failure.

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We are heading to Chicago on Friday and I have a lot of prep work to do.

I went to the Galleria yesterday thinking I could easily find some cute shoes that are comfortable to walk in. I got there right at 10:00 when they opened.

I found NOTHING. Everything has already been picked over! I have decided that I want some tall, flat boots. I am hoping to find something I can wear with dresses OR jeans and I’m (hesitantly) thinking about attempting the skinny jeans-tucked-into-boots look … against my better judgment.

This is what I found out: my legs don’t fare well against boots. Period. Meaning, it’s hard to get them all the way on.

And now I’m considering … THIS. 

Bath Time.

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I came across this article today on how often you bathe your kids. Since bathing is something I’m very OCD about, I felt the need to share it.

First of all, I was raised to take a shower every morning. I also have a “thing” about getting in bed at night if I’m dirty. Usually I take a bath at the end of the day to relax. At the very least, I’ll wash off my feet. I also make my husband wash off his feet, which he doesn’t really understand but grudgingly does it anyway. Why? Because I will badger him into submission if he tries to get into bed and rub his dirty feet on me.

YUCK.

I bathe my child EVERY DAY. When he was a newborn he was bathed every other day, but once he started crawling it was every day without exception. Even if he doesn’t seem dirty, we do it anyway. It’s a way to wind down the day and it’s part of our nightly routine. 

And I’m a little OCD about smells. I can smell dirty hair from several feet away. I dislike this.

I can’t IMAGINE how people who bathe 2-3 times a week live in their own filth. If you have running water, there is no excuse for being gross. I don’t care what you have going on, making time to shower should be a priority. And for heaven’s sakes, BATHE YOUR CHILDREN!!!
 

Southern Gentleman.

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My goal in life is to turn this little boy into a Southern gentleman.

I’m adamant that he grow up to be well-mannered, well-spoken, and know how to effectively woo the RIGHT woman.

I’m adamant about this because I had to deal with many idiots before I met my husband.

Here is a brief run down:

1. The mama’s boy with the crazy ass family.

2. The one who said God “told” him he was supposed to marry me. (check, please!)

3. The stalker. Which was nice in the beginning … not so much after a week or so.

4. The one who seemed perfect, but couldn’t commit (this was a major disappointment).

5. The religious fanatic who made a pact not to kiss a girl before engagement.

6.  The one who had no sense of identity.

 7.  The one who thought I was fat and wanted me to stop eating carbs.

8. The one several ones who were too afraid to ask me out.

I don’t know how you raise a little boy into a self-confident man who isn’t afraid to chase a woman, but at the same time isn’t a man-whore … but I’m going to give it my best. I think that it’s the mother’s responsibility to train her sons to be mannerly, but the father needs to teach him how to be a MAN.

We’re starting by learning how to say “yes ma’am” and “no sir” and “please,” “thank you,” and “excuse me.” 

Baby steps.