Monday, January 5, 2015

Our not so hot hot day....

Grace is sick. She threw up on Christmas vacation but after our night of sleeping in barf chunks, I thought she was better...and then she got pneumonia so we had a lock down day of germs. We tried to make the "cloud dough" from pinterest that supposedly was soft and life changing but all it did was dye Liv's hands bright blue and felt like snot and cornstach mixed together. It's what we call a complete pinterest bust.
So we spent the rest of the day rotting our brains watching PBS kids, sipping juice and doing photo shoots of Liv's princess collection:
(Is it just me or is Rapunzel's hair frozen at a really awkward direction? There's no way any hairspray could keep it like that.)

Technically this goes ON things like waffles or bread, but it was the kind of day where I just resorted to sticking a spoon right in and going wild. It was the highlight of the day. If you don't have a jar of this in your house this minute, you need some. It is life changing. We were wasting the day of our mortal probation just fine when the door knocked...

We were in no state to be accepting visitors of any kind. Grace was naked with juice and pink amoxicillin stains on her cheeks, Liv was still rocking her smurf hands from the cloud dough disaster and I was makeup less, bra less, shower free and basically the stereotype of everything that someone imagines when they say, "She really let herself go".  I took a picture for proof (I'm not one of those women that says, "Sorry my house is so messy" and then pick up the one invisible crumb on the corner of the rug. When I say my house is messy, it looks like a garage sale vomited. When I say I looked disgusting, I mean I look like Quasimodos cousin):

So I was opened the door a crack hoping that whoever it was wouldn't be able to fully view the fact that I looked like a homeless woman with my naked blue handed children.  I saw I woman I did not recognize who looked extremely startled and then awkwardly asked, "Um, hi, I am looking for Garret's hot hot wife?"

I just stared back wondering what she could be talking about because I was Garretts wife but I was most definitely not hot, let alone two hots. After a few seconds,  I realized she was the postman (woman) and she held out a box to clarify.  Then we both had a very good laugh together when I said, "Well can't you tell it's me by how hot I am?"

Whenever I have magazines or boxes delivered to the house I always write in a name that is either embarrassing or awkward or exotic and the package of the day I had just so happened to enter my name as, "Garrett's hot hot wife" on my Amazon order.

The moral of this story is don't believe the Pinterest cloud dough recipe, and don't write your name as a title on packages that you can't fulfill. I'm hoping next time I can live up to whatever I've written and the post woman can recognize who it is for....

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