Charley called last night, Whoot! It was actually morning for him, but what ev. The good news? He called before the kids went to bed so they actually got to talk to him. Oldest filled him in on how school is going, and how we "get" to make a diorama for school. And by "get" I obviously mean "forced." The amount of homework coming home is killer.
Littlest decided to talk about the Army and how she misses her Dadda when he is away at the Army. Might have shed a tear, her not me, and then she was distracted by America's Funniest Home Videos. Dadda didn't mind as the result was a big belly laugh with some snorting thrown in. Poor kid, she gets that from me.
I was telling Charley about the homework situation:
Me: So Oldest's math homework just about killed me yesterday. There was long division, fractions, and word problems.
Charley: Let me guess, you couldn't do the word problems.
Me: WHAT! How did you know!
Charley: Well, it wasn't too hard to guess, you couldn't do the 3rd grade word problems either.
Me: It really is lame, who needs word problems anyways?
Charley: You better get a math book and figure out how to do them, otherwise the Teacher will think you are blonde.
Me: I hate you.
In other news I have decided I hate the Olympics. They make me stay up way to late at night and make me feel like I have to work out. Why? Who knows, something about being skinnier than me. Except for the speed skaters of course. Have you seen the SIZE of their thighs? I mean really? But they do get to wear super fantastic spandex so I guess it isn't a total loss.
So now my abs are killing me and I walk all funny due to the rubber bands that have replaced my legs. All I am gonna say is I better get the skinny with a quickness. For Real.
My bloggy friend Rabbit recently wrote about Kokopelli who is this guy:
And if you have seen Littlest Punk's floor, which most of you haven't but I will tell you anyways, she has two of these guys depicted in a tile mosaic. Smack Dab In The Middle Of Her Floor. She calls them her "Dancing Men." Unfortunately, that description is a bit too accurate. As Rabbit points out:
"Legend has it, everyone in the village would sing and dance throughout the night when they heard Kokopelli play his flute. The next morning, every maiden in the village would be with child."
To which I say, if there is any "dancing" or "magical flute playing" I will attack the floor with a sledge hammer.
That is all.
