Friday Night Drunken Blogging - Now With More Wine Coolers

Do you see how fun we are? It's 9:38 pm and we are home. HOME! And I started drinking Pina Colada wine coolers many hours ago and HA! DOn't you laugh at my wine coolers because they are liquor-goodness. Good-ness! And Hugh is walking around singing, "If you like penis-coladas..." Man, we are lame.

We have been unpacking. Unpacking sucks. Sucks! And I have had it. I do not wish to make the children try on any more of the stupid pants and shirts and shorts that I packed up back in July... I am just going to give them all away. This is how my children do it: I hand them a pair a black Quicksilver pants and I ask, "who's pants?" and then they both deny ownership. Like the pants, crept into our house on their own. They are squatter pants. They belong to NO LEGS in this house. And, even though they are very clearly marked with our last name on the label, indicating that they have been to some sort of activity where we had to Sharpie things, they are still not our pants! NOT OUR PANTS!!

So, fuck 'em. One pair of size 7x pants in the "to go" pile. Along with every 3rd item pulled from the box.

Also, the Legos. We have a lot of them. We have kits and Bionicles and random pieces and a child who wants to be a Lego employee when he grows up so that he can master making round objects out of square pieces for money. I have given him a sort of plastic 3-drawer thing and suggested that all Legos find a home there and if we can't fit them all in then we have too damn many and perhaps he should start constructing himself a little house out of all those pokey pieces.

The husband. The husband had the job of assembling the safety rails for Eva's big girl bed. When the boys were small this was a one part item. It was an "L" shaped thing that had a flat part that went between the mattress and the boxspring and then there was a net type barrier that prevented the little darlings from falling to their doom. Now, they are a bit more complicated and there was screwing and measuring and latching and after doing one, Hugh thought perhaps that was it. When I pointed out that there was a second side of the bed, he mentioned that she could just sleep on the safe side. Seriously. I am not making that up.

The husband is also walking around with several rum and Cokes in his system and a hammer in his hand and wanting to, "Get the art off the floor, already!" Personally, I think we are going to regret hanging anything tonight, but he is hard to stop when he gets like this.

My youngest son has taken all my bobby pins and made a sleeping bag for a small stuffed manatee.

The people in this house with a penis are a little annoying on a Friday night.