Warning: Having FIVE excuses for not wanting to do something is overkill.

It occurred to me that I have been posting an inordinate amount of Wesley-isms.  So today, the focus is on Regan.  At 9:12 a.m. she managed to spout off FIVE different excuses on why she can’t roll the garbage can to the street for pickup.

1.       “I don’t have any shoes.”  While I know Dave and I are not the Donald Trump family of Georgia, I do know for a fact she has shoes and in no way does she resemble a poor child of Haiti going barefoot throughout the countryside.  She, again, lost her shoes thus re-earning the name “Princess Lose-It”.

2.       “I can’t wear your shoes.” I point out that she has been stealing my food, my towels and my drinks (non-alcoholic, of course) for 10 years and she is in no danger of contracting the deadly Mommy Cooties.

3.       “I can’t find the bug spray.” You might just think that this might fall under Excuse #1 but I was not asking her to undertake an arduous hike through the wilds of the African jungle.  Just roll the stupid bin to the street from the concrete pad to the road.  She would have never left the safety of the driveway.

4.       “I saw the garbage truck go by.” Nice try. The truck that rumbled by was hauling a back-hoe.  There is a distinct difference in the sound and appearance of Peach State Sanitation.

5.       “I am not strong enough to pull a full trash bin to the street.  The pizza box keeps falling out.”  Again Dave and I are not fabulously wealthy but we manage to feed her regularly including the aforementioned Little Caesar’s Pizza box from last night.

By the time it was said and done, Peach State was patiently waiting for our trash bin.  I was half tempted to throw Regan in the bin but I refrained.

Warning: It's one of those days.

Sit back and pour a glass of Coke, wine, or hard liquor.  Fasten your seat belts and hold on.

My list for the day--it was rather lengthy as this was one of the few days where we had no rain.  It was sunny and hot.

·         Help Wesley and his best friend, Logan identify ten different kinds of wildlife or evidence of it like a nest for a scout requirement.  Ten minutes into the nature walk, Wesley states he has to pee.  He veers off the path and comes back with 8 ticks on him.  When he sees one on his shirt, he tries to tear off all his clothes.  I get them all off but find 5 more on me.  We leave the park without finding even one stinking squirrel.
·         Finish watching season 3 of the Walking Dead.  Right when Rick is being stabbed by an old friend, BAM.  The power goes out.  However the fridge, the garage and my bedroom are still working.  We have no air.  For the record, it hit 95 degrees at 2:00 p.m.
·         Take the kids to the pool.  Of course, this falls off to the wayside while I consult my neighbor for an electrician reference.  We had no internet, TMobile coverage is sketchy at best and we have no phone book.  I find one on my cell while standing on top of my car’s hood.
·         Fold clothes.  While waiting for an electrician, Wesley throws a fit like he was a male Honey Boo Boo (I still don’t know that is but someone compared their unruly daughter to her). He wanted to swim at the YMCA instead of waiting for the “stupid” power to come on.  Instead of holding on to the dogs when the electrician comes, he lets them loose in my room where I had just folded two loads of laundry.  If I smell like dog at church Sunday, that is why.
·         Cook a pork roast for dinner.  No power; no pork.
·         Check up on Dave who had an important appointment today.  Every time he called, TMobile dropped.  This happened 7 times.
·         Clean the bathrooms.  One toilet was completely clogged.  That kid “I Don’t Know” did it according to Wesley.  Regan said it was “Not Me”.

In the end, the electrician said that it was the power company’s problem as one of their underground pipes corroded from all the rain and cut off the electricity.  The electric company comes out and promptly digs a very large hole under the fence in the back yard.  Just big enough for an enterprising Australian Shepherd to slip through.

Power is finally restored at 4:03 p.m.  The air kicks on and ten minutes later, clouds cover the hot sun and the temperature plunges to a manageable 79 degrees and now we are under a flood watch.

Go ahead, God.  Press the “SMITE” button.

Warning; The Easter Bunny does not visit mothers who can't control their road rage.

Per Wesley.  This apparently doesn't need to be elaborated on as directed by my son. 

Warning: God help us if Perry Mason starts defending juveniles.

So we've been out these past few days from school.  To date, there have been 12 (yes, 12) fights between Wesley and Regan, 2 fights between Wesley and the Collie, 1 nervous breakdown (me), 3 emergency runs to the store for Diet Dr. Pepper and so on.

In addition to all these situations, my children have apparently decided to become lawyers.  Below is a sampling of possible illegal activities I have conducted:

1.  It is illegal for me to forbid Wesley from activating a Netflix account downstairs in the den.  He contends that I am a Dictaphone (I think he meant dictator) and I "trample on his rights."

2.  Telling Regan she cannot be a

• gator wrestler (Gator Boys),
• a surfer (after watching "Soul Surfer),
• a veterinarian,
• an employee of the Houston SPCA (thanks Animal Planet),
• a race car driver (much appreciated Danica Patrick),
• a doctor for turtles (this was an offshoot of the time Darby brought a humongous turtle up to the deck to play with it),
• a dog trainer (thank you Petsmart),
• a builder of monkey homes (I dunno.  From Tarzan, maybe?),
• a worm breeder (I don't who put that idea in her head),
• and a school teacher

violates her dreams. 

She wants to do this by the time she is sixteen years old.  She has just a mere 6 years to go.

In my defense, I told her she can do anything she puts her mind to bu she still has to pass fourth grade so she'd better do her math homework. 

3.  When I handed Wesley his folded clothes, I committed a deadly assault.  He wanted to call the police to have me arrested but I told him they were closed until 9:00 a.m.  Fortunately, he forgot about his threats since I am still a free person.

4.   The chore of feeding the dogs once a day is a clear case of blackmail.  I don't know how but Wesley insists that I am an evil blackmailer.

5. When I made an emergency Diet Dr. Pepper run last night, Regan said I abandoned her.  Never mind that Dave was at home with her--I still have temerity to leave and come back.

6.  Lastly, when I told both Wes and Ray at separate times that I did not want to bake cookies, I was called a dictionary by Ray.  After I stopped laughing, Regan stomped her feet, made a "UUUHHHH" noise and ran outside.  Wesley just started his usual diatribe aka, "I am starving to death and all we have to eat is garbage..." yada, yada, yada.  Oh, and I am starving my children by making them eat nutritious food.



Dear Readers, I implore you to write your local legislature to clarify some murky issues in laws in your respective state and/or country.  Don't wait until Perry Mason names you in a civil lawsuit on behalf of your kids.

Warning: Your children probably have super powers.

Did you know that my children have superpowers of their very own? Wesley is actually Captain Miserable. He's able to make everyone spitting mad when they come within 3 feet of him. Want revenge on a co-worker? Captain Miserable will deliver his special brand of pissiness to your office mate resulting in your co-worker quitting.

His sidekick, Regan, is Princess Lose It. She can misplace anything. Have a car you don't want? Princess Lose It can hide it just by looking at it.

I will transport them to your location for a free weekend demonstation!