Buzz Kill

Buzz Kill

I taught my son how to hunt today.  How to hunt horse flies, that is.  One flew into the house somehow, and I spent probably close to thirty minutes swatting at and chasing it with a broom.

Yes, a broom.  Give me a break… he was a big’n!  I still haven’t gotten him.  Had it not been Gabe’s bath time I’d have gone all Rambo & decked out with a bandana & war paint to boot.  I did, however, enlist Gabe in the finding & killing of the horse fly.  I’m ashamed to say that I let my child roam through the house naked in hopes that maybe, JUST MAYBE, it would fly along and Gabe would pee on it.  No such luck.  In fact, Gabe wasn’t much help.  I’d swat at the fly in a fruitless effort to get ’em, and he would die with laughter.  Seriously… he was cracking up!  And I guess had I been watching myself I’d have laughed, too.  It probably looked pretty funny… some crazy lady seemingly swatting at the air and a little naked guy following her laughing hysterically.  Definitely YouTube material.  Who’d have thought one evening could sum up the last few weeks of my life?  Go figure.

Anyway.  Mother’s Day for the two of was:
A) Uneventful
B) Hectic
C) Inspiring.

If you answered “B”, congratulations.  You win.  What do win?  ….how’s a pat on the back sound?  From 6:00am Sunday to 9:00pm that evening, we were up & running.  I even made the mistake of going to Wal-Mart.  Bet you didn’t know that Mother’s Day is the busiest day of the year at Wal-Mart… second only to deer season.  I saw more people piling out of there with flowers than I care to think about.  Here’s a hint for next year guys:  If you wait until the day of to buy your mom a gift, flowers just will not cut it.  You must a) buy her a car & b) pay off her home loan.  If she doesn’t owe anything on her home, option “b” becomes void & you must buy her a new home.  Hey, don’t blame me… it’s not my fault you forgot your mom.  And speaking from someone who is officially a mom?  We don’t expect anything… really, we don’t.  But since we did push you out of our uterus, it would be nice if you could at least throw a card our way saying “Thanks for pushing me out of your uterus.”  Ok, that would be inappropriate.  A simple “Thanks, mom” would be great.

Food for thought.

Oh, Lord. THIS WAS ME!



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