Beaver Loving Internet Style

There used to be a time when I had to wear pants. Or any sort of clothes in general. I have to remind myself of this as it's 11 am and I'm sitting at the kitchen counter wearing fuzzy slippers, my husband's boxer shorts and a tank top that has a mysterious stain right above my left breast.

Of course, I still have to wear clothes every now and then, but I tend to avoid dressing in anything non-pajama related as often as possible. My rule of thumb tends to be that pants (and bra) are only required if I'm going to be forced to interact in a professional manner in any way. This often means I can run to the store wearing slippers and jammie bottoms but will shrug into real people clothes if there is any possibility of seeing the principal of my children's schools.

Of course, I play fast and loose with this rule and have been known to appear almost any where in yoga pants and slippers.

The fault of this lies directly at the Internet's feet. If it had feet. Which, to my limited understanding, it does not, so maybe it's just everyone who is on the Internet's fault. Y'all are feeding my pant-free addiction.

Somehow this blog post became about my pants protestation and the fact I'm a lazy slob.

Awesome.

Anyways. I love the Internet because it embraces the pant-less. The Internet seems to love me back too. Or so I tell myself. I used to always tell myself that Jamie G with the green eyes in grade nine loved me back as I was crushing on him. I'd catch him looking at me and construct complex fantasies about how he was working up the courage to ask me out and it turns out, he liked the girl sitting behind me.

Bygones.

My point is, (lost and not articulated but whatever) during my vast time on the Internet, I've made some awesome friends. Friends who get me. Who embrace my quirks and love me despite of them.

Friends who, much to my husband's dismay, enable my oddities.

It only took 454 words for me to get to the point of my post. That must be some type of record. I now feel the need to apologize to each and every one of you who are actually reading this.

(Except to Boo. Because if he's reading this, he's not working and since he's always giving me the gears about dicking around on the Internet instead of working, I figure turnabout is fair play. Get off the net Boo and get back to work.)

Anyways.

Back to my (lost and less than articulated) point.

I love the Internet and the people that are on it. Because they love me back. How do I know they love me back and aren't just staring at the girl behind me like that dreadful Jamie G with the pretty green eyes in my grade nine class?

Well, they occasionally send me things they have seen and know I will appreciate.

Things like this:

Front.

Back.

Everyone needs a tee shirt like this. Special points when you wear it while picking your children up from their high school while wearing slippers and sporting pigtails. Everyone should have a friend like Rachel from A Southern Fairytale.

And then there is this:

A beaver necklace. Complete with gnawed on log beads. Pure awesome.

My friend Vicki from Sharp-Tongued Mom saw this on Etsy and knew my life wouldn't be complete without it. She was right. I wore it all weekend long and I swear it gave me super powers. Or so it felt like, because every time my mom looked at me and saw it hanging around my neck she winced. She couldn't stand the awesome.

So ya, I spend too much time on the Internet, generally while pant less, screwing around instead of working. But it all works out in the end because of the beavers.

The beaver is a proud and noble animal. No matter what my mother thinks.

Now if only Klout would recognize my leading authority in all things beaver, the net would be darn near perfect.

The Science of Bread and Pee

I've written a lot about conversations I've had with my children while driving somewhere. We live in the middle of nowhere, so our lives include a lot of vehicle time.

Sometimes, those conversations can be priceless.

Other times, less so.

Like last night's conversation between Fric and Frac as we were making our way home from town.

"Man, I really have to pee. Mom, can you speed it up a bit? I feel like I'm floating here," said one child.

"No way, Mom, take your time! I like driving and listening to the music. When we get home I'll have to clean my room. Drive slower!"

"Seriously Mom, speed this up or you may have an accident to deal with."

"If she speeds it up, there may be another type of accident because speed KILLS. So slow it down Mom!"

Me: Twitching and wishing I had earplugs.

"Hang on, we're almost home. Just another ten minutes or so."

Collectively from both kids: NOOOOO.

Jumby: happily oblivious to all of us. I'm often thankful he's mostly deaf. Lord knows what he'd think of any of us if he actually knew what dorks we all are.

A few moments later: "Mom, you may have to pull over. Someone keeps making the sound of water rushing and I don't know if I can hold it any longer."

Other child: "I'm just trying to let nature take its course. I'm helpful like that."

Me: "Cut it out you two. Quit bugging each other. Don't pee on my leather seats."

*Groans* "I have to pee so badddd."

Other child: "Here, I've got something to help with that," and then rummages through a lunch kit and hands the full-bladdered sibling a piece of bread from a sandwich uneaten earlier that day.

"What exactly am I suppose to do with this?" said mystified child while waving around a piece of whole grain bread with crusty mustard on one side.

"You know, eat it. I figure if you eat the bread it will help soak up the pee. Kinda like sopping up gravy on your plate."

*A few beats of stunned silence.*

"Mom, your child is an idiot!" said as child hurls dried bread slice at sibling's head.

"I am an idiot that doesn't have to pee though!"

"Man am I glad I got the brains in this family. Makes up for the small bladder. Hurry up Mom!"

I really need to pay closer attention to what my children are learning in school.

*Names of siblings have been hidden due to small bladders and dumbassedry.

Photographic Evidence

On Friday, in a moment of generosity I'm sure they are regretting by now, my parents decided to whisk my children away for the long weekend to ring out summer in a final hurrah involving camping, fishing and fire.

When I asked if I could join them on their last minute getaway, my father stared at me like I just grew horns out of my head and said, "No. Find something else to do."

Well, okay then.

There is nothing quite like finding yourself unexpectedly alone at 5 pm on a Friday night of a long weekend.

If I were younger, or you know, had a life, I'd have gussied up and headed into the city for a weekend of unfettered fun, free from the burdensome responsibilities of parenting.

Instead, I turned on the television and settled in to watch three days worth of Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes. My patheticness was only made more charming by eating ice cream straight out of the container with a spoon.

I was feeling slightly ashamed of myself. I mean, I may feel like I have the spine of an 80 year old arthritic woman and my personality may resemble that of a cranky geriatric shaking her cane at the youngsters of society most of the time, but even I know that when life hands you a long weekend with no kids when you are 35 years old, you should make the most of it.

And 'making the most of it' it shouldn't mean cleaning out your refrigerator, watching 90's vampire shows or self-medicating with mint chocolate chip ice cream.

But life has a funny way of turning around just when you are hip deep in self-pity and reaching for the dry cereal to munch on.

My weekend alone turned out not so as I ended up having a good old fashioned slumber party with a friend I've known my entire life.

You know what happens when two moms who have no children to take care of and no husbands to wive or toilets to scrub do for a long weekend?

They raid the liquor cabinet, watch cheesy romantic comedies while slightly inebriated and eat more junk food than once thought possible.

Sadly, there were no pillow fights but there was a lot of farting.

Beer, apparently, makes me as gassy as my dog.

There were, however, photos. Lots of photos.

Because every drunken slumber party should involve a computer, a camera and a twit.

It was like I'm 21 all over again. Minus the small waist, perky breasts and high alcohol tolerance.

I'd totally be that girl who would publicly post drunken photos of herself on Facebook if I was 21 and then wonder why I can never get a job.

Thank God I'm 35 and have a blog. I'm so much better than that 21-year-old.

This weekend I was reminded of the value of a good beer, lasting friendships and the importance of keeping your pantry stocked with munchies.

But most importantly, I remembered why drunk people shouldn't be allowed near cameras of any sort.

Because one is never too old to make a fool of themselves while drunk and then post about it on a Monday morning.