And NO I have not been drinkin'

Today, all day, I have been a fine upstanding citizen.

Cleaned my kitchen, dining and lounge room. Vacuumed.

Filed my income tax return, early.

Had lunch at the Chicken with my Dad. Agreed to enter he and his mates into the Association of Former Students Golf Tournament, even though both my brothers go to our rival school and they'll get snarky about the golf. Whatever. There is a reason they call me the mature one in the family.

So tonight I dropped 2 out of 3 kids off at soccer training. One of the kids had to be picked up at 9pm.

I left the house, I noticed driving home from Easter that my headlights were hitting a wee bit low. Rio Grande Boulevard is 1.2 miles long, I spent one mile of my drive behind a small forest green Ford truck, squinting at the contents of bed. There was a black wire dog crate, the kind that you can unclasp and fold flat if you need to. Initially I thought there was a two-bummed furry white dog in the crate. So I got closer, thinking I might need to get my eyes checked. I contemplated driving with my brights on but I thought it might be a tad rude. Right before my turn off and after a stopsign under a streetlamp, I figured it out.

I tried to take a photo, however, my camera only works after dinner and a movie, and only if I whisper sweet nothings about a house, with a 2 car garage, and a dog and long walks on the beach.

Two lambs, shorn, one wearing a blue jumper (one pampered dogs wear), stuffed into the back of a dog crate in the back of a small green Ford F-150. The lambs were not happy, when I rolled the window down to take the photo, they were baa-ing away-poor little ticked off lambies, naked and squished.

Only in Texas. And NO I have not been drinkin'

She Failed Taks Math.

So I spent Easter with some very lovely folks, was reminded I haven't blogged in a very long time, and made a Funky Monkey run - the handbag was my treasure, begging to go home with me.

So my oldest son has asked several times for a ride to the hairdressers for a trim. He is very fond of his hair, far worse than most women I know. When he was little he liked a number 2 buzz cut, and would run his hand over the spikey short hair often.

Today we had a hour and a half after school/work before soccer training, so I handed him some money and his phone. We talked about what he was going to have done. "Less than an inch off, Mum, that's exactly what I'll tell her"

Okeydokey, I dropped him and ran home to whip up dinner.

Yesterday in the green.

He walked into the hairdressers, told her he wanted a trim, less than one inch off, please.

I got a text, it said simply "come get me".

By the time I got to the stopsign at the end of our street I received a second text, saying, "don't come , i'm halfway home, i walked". I picked him up. And I think he looks lovely, however, I did tell him I would gladly go all mummabear on the hairdresser for him if he wanted me to.

And it is just so sad that the hairdresser, she doesn't know what one inch is.

He is handling it really well.

Dr. Pepper therapy helps.

Sad little Taks Maths Failure of a hairdresser though.