I'm a Weed

I have a weed problem.  I can't keep up with them.  They are running rampant through my flower beds.  Every day there are more.  Each time I pull them, they seem to come back bigger, and stronger. Aggravating, they are.

But...

I'm like a weed, though. 

I'm not welcome in the carefully tended beds.

Sure, I pop in now and again. Try to fit in with the Iris's and the Black Eyed Susan's, but inevitably, I get yanked.

Sometimes I get tired of being pulled away, out of the pretty flower beds.  They have it easy. 

But...

I don't belong there. 

I can't be me, in all my weed-e-ness, around those bitches. 

Flowers, though...they are kind of weak.  They need someone to take care of them. 

Weeds, on the other hand, they are hard to tame.  No matter how many times they are told they are not welcome, they just keep coming back.

Bigger.

Stronger.

They grow like a son-of-a-bitch.

Maybe that's why there are more weeds than flowers.

They have the will to grow, to flourish, no matter what stands in their way.

Sha-poopy!

I've said a lot of bad words the last few days...
Like "dammit!"

"What the hell?"

and "Oh for shits sake!"

For the sake of shit go I.

Noah punched me today. We were laying in my bed this morning watching cartoons.  He gets close to my face, smiles, and just pops me right in the kisser. After I quelled the instinct to give him a right hook in response, I grabbed my mouth and yelled "what the shit?!"  He thought that was hilarious...

Ellie bitch slapped me today.  Snuggled into the chair, my girl and I.  She, sucking her thumb, I browsing through the psychotic posts on Babycenter.  All of a sudden, she rears back and smacks me, right across the face.  I, of course, look at her and say, "what the hell was that for?"

She says nothing.  Just eyeballs me for a moment, and goes back to her thumb.

My children are keeping their pimp hands strong.

My children are all fake tattooed up.  I have a mini motorcycle gang roaming the house. 

My 19 month old daughter bent over yesterday in the driveway, grabbed her tiny ass, and said "da butt."

I, on top of my lengthy vocabulary of bad words, also have a cache of almost bad words.

"Sha-poopy"

"balls"

"friggity frig"

"pa-dooker"

I, apparently say "sha-poopy" a lot.  My daughter, niece, and the girls I watch sing it, "Sha-poopy SHA-pooopy poopy poopy poopyyyyyy"

Now Lindsay, you say, that is no way to raise your children.  One must watch their language, and model perfection in all things, at all times. Children learn from us.  

Yeah, no shit!

Sha-poopy!

Oatmeal Banana Walnut Cookies!

I had a burst of energy this morning, and some ripe bananas.  So I whipped out some cookies. 

They are super soft, almost cake-like compared to a chewy cookie.  My family gave them 5 stars, and I had to wrestle a few one away from Noah while they were cooling. 

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. 

Stir up in a bowl, then set aside:
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon cinnamon

Cream together until light and fluffy:

3/4 cup butter and
1 cup brown sugar
Then add:
1 egg
1 cup mashed banana
1 3/4 cup quick cooking oats
1/2 cup chopped nuts.  (I had some in the freezer that were ground pretty fine, I used those up) 
Mix Well!

Add dry ingredients, mix well.

Drop by rounded teaspoons on cookie sheet. 

Bake 8 minutes, or till they start to get golden.








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