An AP article entitled “Weiner abides despite new photo” states: “It’s apparent that Weiner’s self-immolation already has cost him much: his credibility, his dignity, the confidence of his colleagues, and more.” I’m thinking his last name alone should’ve taken care of all that a long time ago. If your name is slang for a reproductive organ, your best bet is to stay out of politics.
Pioneer Woman. That’s Me.
Doug and Tyler decided it’s time for a garden, and an entire produce aisle now flourishes on the side of our property. Eva thinks it’s “Daddy’s sandbox.” The dogs are ecstatic about our chicken poop fertilizer. As for me, I’m still combing Amazon.com for “Rhubarb Recipes for Dummies.” Soon I will gather our crop under the harvest moon, and the canning will begin. I will turn into Pioneer Woman right before your eyes!
Here goes…
All three kids have inherited Doug’s chronic eczema. Surprisingly, some quick research pointed to Clorox as the miracle cure. That’s right—we’re instructed to pour a capful of the stuff that strips the color off our clothes into our children’s bathwater. The bottle says, “Warning: CHEMICAL HAZZARD. May irritate skin.” I held my breath and poured. To bleach the babies or cure them? Time will tell.
Say what?
The reason many of us settle down and have families is when we become fed up with the dating scene. One thing I don’t miss is the random, disconnected, incoherent jibber-jabber spewed by guys in bars just before closing time. Ironically, every time my two-year-old opens her mouth, I’m right back where I started.