Delightful Bits of Random

When I was a teenager, if I had used either of the words “delightful” or “lovely” someone would have smacked me for being intolerably lame. As it was, I was barely tolerably lame, so I’m glad I didn’t find either of those words so useful as I do now, when they are so much back in popular usage. But today, I can use them with near impunity, and so I will.  Therefore today’s post is a delightful collection of random. Which I find to be lovely.

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Is it just my children that turn into little wrestling/poking/punching magnets of  intra-sibling torture in any type of grocery store, but particularly Costco? I mean seriously, people, I have all kinds of conflicting feelings and strong opinions about motherhood and parenting and discipline and the use of Nerf guns and how often you should allow repeat outfits on sequential school days, but in my heart I believe I am a good mother. I am, I am a good mother!

So WHY must there be wrestling/poking/punching even though I have quietly and firmly forbade all types of such behavior prior to entering the store, and I have clearly delineated the consequences that will result, and in fact do regularly enforce said consequences? WHY can’t they just keep their hands to themselves for 15 minutes for the love of all that is good and holy in this world? Is it me? Have I failed already? Is it too late?

Tangential sidenote: if you ever see me shopping alone in Costco, humming wildly to myself with a giddy look in my eye and a gleeful skip in my step, just let me have my moment. I’ll be fine.

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We are fostering six kittens for a local cat adoption organization. Their cuteness is off the charts, and watching live kitten TV is great fun. I’ve noticed that their reflexes are not too well-adjusted yet, and if any of their siblings walk, twitch or breathe in their line of sight, they seem to not notice who or what, they just need to pounce/attack/nip. Hmmmmm…..I’m sensing a corollary here……maybe I should be glad the boys do not wrestle/poke/punch the Costco Irish cheese snack lady, or the grumpy man in front of the frozen foods.

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Watched the finale of American Idol last night, and LOVED IT ALL. Well, almost all. I really, really don’t get Lady Gaga. She is vaguely disturbing. But if I can raise my boys to accept an award like Scotty McCreery accepted his title, I will be a proud, proud mama. And I can be a fan with a clean heart, because I’ve fully confessed to my husband that my fondness for Scotty was directly related to the fact that he bears a strong resemblance to a college boy on whom I had a serious crush, a boy who toyed with my affections before confessing he was dating the girl who led my Bible Study. Scoundrel.

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Well, thank you, that was just delightful. Lovely. G’night.